annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary

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Day 133

Busy busy busy. Writing workshop, tidy up studio for Daughter to sleep in, Renaissance Painting workshop, collect Daughter, swim, dinner, telly, blog.

The writing workshop is the one I used to run, and is proving interesting. The guy who runs it now has some good strategies for getting us writing, which I always find I'm resisting. Like today, we had to give a name, a verb and a year to the next person. Obviously bollocks. I ended up with Raymond, leapt, 1902. Ten minutes.

Raymond leapt back to his task when he heard Mrs Jenkins's footsteps. He swept the stone floor diligently, the dust jumping in the sunlight, for all the world as if he'd been hard at it since sun up, not dreaming of going to sea. His brother John had joined the navy and had sailed off, bound for Africa. Africa - Raymond savoured the name, repeated it softly under his breath. He'd never gone further than the village - a five mile walk from the estate - with its view of the sea and the little natural harbour. Small boats came and went - John had been taken on one to join a larger ship in Portsmouth. Raymond couldn't imagine Portsmouth, let alone Africa. His brother had promised to write as often as he could but nothing so far.

"Get back to it, lad! Stop daydreaming! " Mrs Jenkins was sour, fed up. This was a joyless house. He'd heard that at Wickham Hall, the other side of the village, the staff had a feast at harvest festival and the family waited on them! That was never going to happen here - this family barely recognised the staff unless something was less than perfect and - "Ow!" Mrs Jenkins had slapped him round the head. "Last warning. I have enough work of my own to do without having to watch you. Get on or you're out!"

He couldn't be out - John's letters wouldn't reach him...

I meant to take a photo of the studio converted to a spare room, small but cosy. It's very anxiety-provoking having Daughter to stay - it's not actually allowed but no one's policing anything any more. Masks on public transport, supposedly compulsory, are definitely optional - I keep seeing buses with fewer than half the passengers wearing them. It's not that though, but the worry over whether she's had it and if she's still infectious. I think the answer is yes to the former and no to the latter, which is why she's currently tucked up in the bed up there, and I pray I'm right. I googled it and that's how it seems. Too late now.

Then it was the art workshop which I had to do today or lose the money I'd paid. It was hard. I was too tired and it's meant to be very precise, which is not really in my nature. So this was what I managed after about 75 minutes:

I do kind of like it. Women at the time shaved their hair to give them an exaggeratedly high forehead.

It was 7 pm by the time we got to the beach for a swim, low tide, so the water was shallow on the hard sand, windy enough to create little waves and for the water to feel lovely and warm.

Three good things today:

1. My pal J, the receptionist at the acupuncture clinic I go to and a talented stained glass artist, is branching out into teaching workshops and has offered me and Daughter a free day's lesson. To help us design and make something - fab.


2. While I was tidying I was facebook linking - can't remember what it's called, to my pals J and B  so they chatted encouragingly to me as they painted and I tidied.


3. Spending time with Daughter, proper time.

1:18 a.m. - 25.07.20

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