When the things that you do to make your life better stop you doing your life, then it's the wrong way round. I have enjoyed my obsession with this blog and I've been proud not to miss a day, and to keep the routine. Yesterday, I caught myself about to refuse a friend's kind offer to stay over because I had to get home and write my blog, and remembered all the other times I've left things early (about which I'm usually glad, but not always) to get back to the beloved finger-tapping, I caught myself. I'd had a lovely evening, a dinner with lovely Sarah Lonton and her differently formidable friends Dragan (really! from Serbia) and Cindy and a very pleasing Derek (salt of the earth Eastender and Eastern philosopher), but we hadn't yet really had time to catch up with each other.
So I stayed. I did write. I wrote in my notebook. Notes, they were. A blog-base. But I'm not using them. This is yesterday's post. My account of that. I am delighted with my choice. Sarah Lonton? She's a peach, that one.
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