Dear Readers,
How are we? The sun is shining again. I’m in a small coffee shop named Stooge. The coffee (and the cake, you know how much I like cake) are excellent. We’ll check it out together when you come to visit.
We have moved, myself and The Muse, to the small house near the sea that I mentioned last time. The kitty-cats are still with their grandparents in the faraway Midlands, eating all the treats. We miss their little furry faces (the cats’, I mean). I am very much looking forward to seeing the little rascals again. (All four of them are certified rascals.)
Our new home is wonderful. It’s old and draughty and full of holes and about four million other things that need fixing. We are incredibly privileged and lucky to have these things to fix, and thankful for the series of things that have happened to us over the last forty-odd years to get us here.
Of course (you can probably guess what’s coming) I immediately overdid it with work. Ripping out carpets and sanding and moving boxes and getting things done, when we have the next forty years to get it all done. The whole of the first weekend, and long days too. It’s so satisfying though, isn’t it? Clearing out, preparing, making ready.
Too much of a good thing, maybe. Or maybe too much of the same good thing all at once. So this is a short letter, because today I am going to enjoy other things before I work again. I’ll slowly finish my coffee (it’s an affogato) and go for a walk in the sunshine. I might stop on the beach and read. Work can wait. Be well, friends.
Yours sincerely,
Paul