Day 464: All Mushed

Every day, each time I walk around the back of the building, I am blown away by the flowers and the prettiness of where I live. Often, when I’m looking for somewhere to live (and it has been quite often over the last few years), I make a list. On it are things like: on a hill, high up, good light, flowers/nature easily reachable, lovely, easy-going people, quiet (etc). I realise I’ve really got what I was looking for with this place.

Standing on the balcony (fire escape) I can look out over the shared garden, with its beautiful flowers and, since the weather turned nice, a fairly regular turnout of neighbours with babies. I’ve met the lovely Claire and her wide-eyed boy, Guy, a couple of times over the last few days. They are both ace. Looking out from there, I can also see the hills and a corner of Preston Park. When I leave by the front, after passing even more beautiful flowers (big pink ones, lots of lavender, purple hebes which have more scent at dusk, unless my imagination is running away with me), I'm in Dyke Road Park. The top garden there is stunning - it's a mixture of very neat and thought out and a little bit wild. The very top rose beds have a sticky, buddy, flowery weed twining in and out between them. It starts fantasies in my head of Beauty and the Beast-style fairy tales. Further on, past scrappy but sweet-scented bushes, it opens out onto a wide green space. They use it for sport, and I use it for yoga. There's a fence, then, and another similar expanse. You can see the sea from all of it. 

I love doing yoga there. My stretching is peppered with dog greetings. Sometimes, I'm meditating and one will come up and look. I haven't yet been bounded up to and mercilessly slobbered on, but I'm holding out for the day that happens. 

In the aching interim between this post and the last, I've been hugely blessed. Some of it feels wrong to talk about with specifics, but BOOM was a biggie and I'm humbled, properly humbled. I'm also very grateful for friends so good that they forgive me things that aren't perfect. Very grateful indeed for that, and them.

I have an exciting few weeks coming up. Secret Garden Party, getting paid to twat about in a creative and pleasing way. I have SO many ideas. And a lollipop lady costume. I can't WAIT! And then back, and I get to be in London and Brighton for a bit, doing pleasing things. And then Germany, doing mask and theatre and good things. And then Brighton again, where my lovely friend Jochen will be, being very understanding and patient (I'm SO glad I get to see him). And then Bristol, for work. And then... fuck knows. Brighton, I hope. I love it there. 

Right now, I'm really enjoying listening to a little bilingual family at the table nearby. My second of the day. The first was German-speaking. The little girl had a very American accent in English and the father had a very serious-sounding German drone. He was warm, though, and playful, despite the tonality. This family is more exciting. There's a father, a girl and a boy. All of them, father included, have perfect accents in both languages. They switch between languages in a very satisfying way. I'm loving listening. Why is 'speaking other languages' such a source of joy for me? I don't know, but it is and always has. Loving it.