Nobody's going hungry on my watch

I've had this box open for an hour and keep changing my mind about what I'm going to write about, so now I'm plunging in, waiting to see where it goes. New sentence, don't stop, something will come - could write about my visit to Sis this evening, but it was all very stressy and I don't want to go back there. I keep getting bursts of sheer joy and happiness and having such a big change in my life and then I collide with someone who's not so happy but is saying they're fine, yet being a bit pissy. I'm determined not to let myself be side-tracked out of this feeling great, so bollocks to them all.

I can sit and fantasise for hours about how I'm going to make the main room of my new home look the way I want it with what I've got and what I'm allowed to do. I'm not allowed to bang nails in the walls (though I haven't had that in writing - I just asked the agent when I was there and she glanced at the empty walls and said no, as if that would obviously be a mad idea), but there's a picture rail at about normal ceiling height. At first all I could imagine was my dentist's waiting room with rectangular frames set at intervals around the otherwise bare walls, variously sized inverted triangles of wire, and a subtle taste of impending doom. But then I started thinking and realised I've got loads of things that could be nailed to a strip of wood and hung from a rail, all different shapes and sizes and textures.

And the garden - well, it's a deck, quite a bit bigger than the one here. I only thought to take a picture as we were coming back in:



but I'm glad I got at least one as next time I see it, it will have all my pots and bits of junk, wherever the removal men put them. I do love a blank canvas, though I've never had one quite as blank as this. My aim will be to create a space I can sit in and see nothing but vegetation. Annual climbers, that'll be the key - there's a fuck of a lot of grey needs covering there. I'm putting myself on a tight budget for the garden - well, tight considering gardening is one of my great pleasures in life, but it's cool. There's always a way.

As I was driving along the coast this evening, into a low winter sun, I thought I'll be able to take my fire-pot down to the beach. It wouldn't be much hassle to carry a couple of logs and some kindling in it - it has a handle - and my camping chair came in a bag with a shoulder-strap. I'd need a fleecy blanket, to warm my back, then I'd be well set up on the beach, with my kindle and my camera. On a windless day, which we do have sometimes. It's not far:



Meanwhile, I have booked a removals firm, to move and pack. All I have to do is sort through stuff and be a bit more ruthless. Starting tomorrow.