Rumpled blankets. A dream about a favorite Uncle I have not seen for such a long time. A child off school for yet another hospital appointment scheduled just in time to see an unusual swelling on his lip. A funny taste in my mouth. Kinfolk magazine. Plans for homemade pizza. Three vanilla lattes. A long chat with my Mum. A lie I cannot fathom. The palest pink hyacinth. A cat that wants to sleep on the curtain pole. Blinking at my inbox hoping to magic something up that isn’t there. Hurry. Mess. Cold.
Leftover chili. A sore throat. A flannel soaked in hot water and eucalyptus oil so that I can breathe. Copious amounts of pineapple juice to soothe a hacking cough. A broken cup. Candles that have dripped their way to a blister in the paintwork. Revelations from a ten year old with more sense in his little finger than I have in my whole body. Photographs I cannot take. Falling behind schedule already. A weekend cancelled. Plans for the cinema. Plans for an epsom salt bath. Plans for a better nights sleep.
Today. A snuggly cream cardigan and a scarf so huge my head is a mere pimple upon it. Warmth. Nigel Slater, a man to see me through this long, desolate month. Irritation with someone I like. Breasts tender with too much womanhood. Hayley withering away on Coronation street. Breakfast not yet made. Not a child in the house washed. Cold feet. Today.