It feels like spinning plates. But it's fun.
Having done all that 'catching up' that Gleaner was so mean about, I had to flit off to Cardiff - a long journey - to hear Daughter play the flute. That sound was so beautiful, I forgot to have stage fright on her behalf. (If you think your own stage fright is bad, try having it for somebody else.) So well done, Lyrical One, and I don't know where your gift comes from but it certainly isn't your mother. Then we had lunch with some lovely friends followed by a very special and happy mother/daughter time. I suppose we should have wandered about in the park, in the fresh air, for free, but we didn't. We went to John Lewis and I spoiled her a bit.
But on the train to Cardiff I had already made a long list of things to go in the post, people I needed to get in touch with, an author event to be organised, letters and e-mails to answer, after-school club to be prepared, and all that stuff to do with accounts that you have to do when you're self-employed. And is there anything in the house to eat, and I haven't planted the things I brought back from Harlow Carr, there are greenfly on the roses and beetles on the lilies, and there's so much washing, perhaps I should just throw it in the river with a bucketful of soap powder and jump up and down on it.
And birthdays coming up. Wedding stuff to do. Bills to pay. And I haven't done my physio exercises.
And writing something might be a good idea.
Oh, help, I've got more smashed plates than a Greek wedding.