feeling the buzz again

After months of busyness and exhaustion, I’m beginning to recover. Maybe it’s the prospect of long days in the middle of nowhere, or family time with Nana and Grandad. Or maybe it’s dancing free weeks ahead. Whatever the reason, I’m chuffed to feel the space, to consider that I can use that, to feel that all my energy isn’t being subsumed by just keeping going.

Today, tasks seem like a bit of work, rather than enormous, shapeless mounds which defeat me as soon as I think of them. I’m going to apply for a part time job. I don’t expect to be considered for it, But I’m going to apply anyway, because I think I’d be great for the organisation. (Where did that confidence come from? I hope it stays.)

I’m going to figure out how to be organised. Rumour has it that nifty apps make that easier than I’d think. I just need to learn how …

I’ve had plans, for far too long, to add all sorts of patient information and rare disease information to the blog, so I know where I can find it. That would teach me how to curate content, which is apparently a good thing. I can do that.

I even applied for a bursary to go back to the summer school I was at a few years ago. Memoir, poetry, talks, drama- how exciting would that be?

Our book club recently read Station Eleven, by Emily St John Mandel. There’s a lot to like about this book- don’t let it’s partially post apocalyptic setting put you off- but I particularly enjoyed how Shakespeare and music continue to survive and enhance lives. There is humour and empathy, murder and broken hearts. There are lists of what’s lost and a museum of the pre apocalypse mundane. There is a wonderful reference to Star Trek Voyager, as the motto of the Travelling Symphony is ‘Because survival is insufficient.’

I like that sentiment. I want to do more than simply survive. I want to have fun and be inspired. I want to connect and challenge. I want to learn new things, and share the things I already know. I want to laugh on beaches and cry in chapels and snuggle on sofas (or any variation on those). I want to spend time with my people and have little adventures together.

We know that my ME means that my grand plans may stay as simply plans, but we know also that I like to mark the good moments, to remember that behind the added weight, the pyjamas, and all the snoring there are times I feel like myself. That’s always worth celebrating.



The walk to ballet was alleviated from trudgery by Girl1 practising the Olympic torch relay; running up the hill, arm aloft.

I added a bag of turf to the wood order this time (Did I ever mention getting a stove?) and Girl2 wants to upend the bag and build a stack in the garden, pretending and planning to be on Donegal on holiday.

I’ve been up at a reasonable hour every day this week. Washed, dressed and face on. I’m exhausted. Every so often the world reminds me that I have ME/CFS and that my ‘normality’ is not what it was.

A former work colleague lives a few streets away. We kept each other sane (ish) for years. I ran into him (almost literally) this week. I’m looking forward to spending time with him next week. He, also, has a new normality.

I’m sure that this time last year I was wearing more layers than I am now. I bought yaktraks, we have bags of salt. I’m now half expecting a milder winter than we’ve been promised. (Though I’m trying not to jinx it!)

There may be a sponsored sing in Girl2’s class today. Not necessarily songs, you understand. They have to sing instead of talking. “Here is my homework, MrC” in tune. It could be chaos. It should be great fun.

Girl1 had a day at home yesterday. Sofa, calpol, hugs, a fizzy drink and rubbish TV work wonders for a sore throat. There was no mention of transfer tests or homework or trumpet practice. That probably helped more than anything.

My fogged brain is struggling to cope with all the excitement round here.


At the end of May there’s a bank holiday weekend in the UK. Last year our little household decamped for a long weekend to Gweedore, Co Donegal. The sun shone and it was warm, the first time I’d been there for events like those since 1977. (Only a slight exaggeration…)

I had breakfast sitting at the back, looking at Errigal. We had tea at the side decking, with no wind even to brave, looking at the sea. We walked and paddled, and batted balls about. We made big turf fires and drank wine. We splashed and built sandcastles. Spurs Fan finally began to see why I’d been dragging him to Gweedore all this time- he’d mostly had the rain before. Weeks of it. For years.

a little bit of heaven right there

This year we didn’t go away for the bank holiday, just muddled round the house together eating buns, and visited an outlet shopping centre, where some JLS and Justin Bieber merchandise fell into small hands. I’d have loved to have been at a beach sometime this weekend, but we made the right decision.

This year, for the end of May bank holiday, we had hailstones.

Weekly photochallenge; Water


  Wrapped up warm we headed off to a local-ish beach. We walked and talked and simply sat.

We were exploring, finding seaweed, sand, and every dog in north Down. We brought home pebbles, shells, ice cream drips. We discovered rockpools, tiddly fish, ourselves.

Time by the sea is relaxing and restorative, building reserves for the days ahead.

oh, to be there now

I don’t do it enough.