Tentatively I think about picking up my pen. It’s been, how long? It feels like weeks though it may well have been days. It just goes to show how hard I work, how much attentiveness I give in normal hours on normal days in my work-a-day life back home. I have missed it and not missed it and been shown what it’s like to not write, how much space there is to live. These weeks every year since I don’t know how long have been the weeks of putting down my pen and being with friends, laughing like we did last night out at dinner when we ate edibles that weren’t on the menu as well as the food that was and laughed till we peed and Andy had to be the adult in the room and get us out of there. It was the first time we’d been to that restaurant; this summer has been a summer of firsts: the first time it has really felt like the young people have surpassed us in staying up late and larking. The first time we’ve all made our own way here according to diaries and travel plans and age. The first time Andy’s brought his motorbike. And on Tuesday, having always made our pilgrimage to the monastery, we will this year instead be making our puja to the mountain of Mary Magdalena instead. We’re calling it an upgrade…
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15 days ago · Eleanor Anstruther
I approve of this impolite notice.
“Winning” at tennis