It’s been a strange week: a funeral and another death. I’m getting sick of funerals – I seem to have attended rather more than my fair share over the years, but one reason for this is that at one point in my life I sang regularly in a Church choir, and we were often needed to sing at funerals. I used to enjoy that, because it felt as though the lovely old hymns and music we sang held a healing quality unlike that of words alone.
The other death has been more sombre – if this is possible. It has stirred up a past I would prefer to forget. As I said to a friend: ‘I feel as though a door in my mind has been blown open and I can’t close it.’ For two days I fretted and struggled to cope, until my husband mentioned our dear old friend and mentor Mrs S. ‘Think of her,’ he told me, ‘and what she might have said.’ And I knew exactly what she would have said, in her wonderful down-to-earth Devon tones, scolding and yet comforting: ‘Gad… stop thinking about it! Get on with your work!’
I’m not writing much at the moment. All my writing ‘energy’ went into finishing ‘Stopping Time’ which I published in September. Some ideas are stirring for another book, but such is the way of this incredible muse, I need to wait until they become clearer before I begin to set them down. In any case, I’m hoping to get my eyes sorted out before I start another book!
Final thought: if my operation is at 11.00 will the surgeon keep the two minute silence?