Grateful: day 2

Aah, today. So many things to delight in.

Firstly, I had a lie-in. It was regal. I sat in bed with two duvets and a huge cup of tea and I wrote. It was foggy and cold outside, but I rushed out to catch a train to the heath nevertheless, grateful for having four pairs of gloves to choose from, and for the generosity of John Barron. He not only has most of my belongings in his loft, but he stayed in to let me dig around for winter stuff yesterday. Legend.

I caught my train by a hair. It was a minute late. Ace! By the time I got to the heath, there was no fog, and it got warmer and warmer. The water was cold and solid and the light was beautiful. I watched my hands under the surface. I lay back and looked at the sky.

I noticed how the sun hits the water and sends reflections up onto the bark of the willow tree... just the trunk and the branches - it doesn't reflect on the leaves. Looks like the trunk is covered in swarms of ants, always moving.

I saw a tiny down-feather sitting on top of the water, covered in minuscule bubbles with light shining through them. I want to say they were like diamonds, but really, the whole thing made me think of one of those crystal whimseys you pay stupid money for in gift shops and strange newsagents.

And on the pond was a young bird, a gull maybe, just shouting. It didn't sound like a call, more like complaint. Proper indignant. He (no way of telling, but he was all hormonal teenage boy in my mind) was very funny.

A flowy cycle down to Hyde Park for a wander and a picnic with lovely Juliet. Best Picnic Ever. Posh bread, TWO different types of liver paté [forestier - fine chicken liver paté and ardennes - chunky, from a pig]. Pepper crisps and turkey stir-fry. Olives. Pop. Great conversation and a pudding. All surrounded in autumn leaves and sun and smells. Delicious from start to finish.

So many dogs in Hyde Park. One in particular, Darcy [ha ha ha - how do you not dress that dog up in a waistcoat and give it a pocket watch?]. Curly beige thing that was after our paté with a vengeance, getting bolder and bolder with each approach. None of them beat yesterday's bouncing German pointer, but that's another story.

A safe and pleasing bike ride home. Lots of people being considerate on the road. One coach being really dangerous, but actually, I think the driver knew I was there but couldn't see me in his mirror, so they held back in case I was alongside.

In yet another park, a long chat with my beloved sister, Our Face. Laughing about things perhaps other people wouldn't. All, of course, in the best possible taste. I admire her. I like her. I'm glad she's my sister.

And then back here, for picnic leftovers, a nice cup of tea and a fantastic coaching call with Sarah Dawrant - sparkly Canadian lady who really makes a difference and asks questions like a mind-reader. She's very good indeed. I'm very grateful.

Oh, and yesterday, the 80-year-old lady on the bus who looked more like 65 and whose message was 'no point in letting it get you down, is there, darlin'?'.

'It', for her, was cancer (of the saliva glands - makes you a bit spitty, ooh, you think you're drownin'!), her husband in a home with Parkinson's and Alzheimers (I tell you what, love, I wouldn't have what my Roy has - I love him so much, but he has it tough) and the trials of getting her trolley off the bus.

And in anticipation, for the rest of today, I am grateful for the two duvet/hot water bottle mash-up I'm about to partake in. How I can feel the cold indoors and possibly also be a person who gets into a cold pond every morning, I'm not sure.

I'm grateful, though.