Hanging In

Recently I have been the recipient of a number of concerned emails from the readership of this blog.

Of course I was stunned and delighted to discover that a readership does in fact exist. I don't know how many people you have to have checking in to qualify as a 'readership' but it sounds way better than 'bunch of friends I emailed my blog link to with a plea for them to read it'.

Every one of my lovely friends are still waiting for a response as this week I was attacked by a Back To School Frenzy induced lethargy that I didn't expect to have to deal with until I was actually a parent. But naturally it's not the kids who had me knackered and falling asleep before 10pm each night, it's the housework. Doing it properly is no joke. Turns out I have zero experience in doing it properly, so I am indeed shocked at the inadvertent workout I'm getting. Hey if I wanted to be superfit I'd be hiking that bloody mountain outside my window wouldn't I? It's always glaring at me reproachfully.

Anyway this is just to say please don't worry too much. As my Dad sweetly reminded me on the phone 'Well, you're warm and dry.' I reminded him I'd hoped to be shooting for a little more just two weeks shy of my 29th birthday, but he isn't wrong. I'm not in physical discomfort. And emotional anguish, however superficial, is what all creative endeavours stem from, right?

Having said that, one thing that may have serious lasting effects (and please feel free to write letters of complaint to my house) is that I am suffering from an overdose of Enya. Yeah, I liked Enya too, when she was new, in the late 80s. When I was seven.

There's only one thing more disturbing than the eerily quiet dinnertimes here; and that is when Enya's sonic tranquilizer floats around us at dinnertime. It's as if we are in the waiting room of a private plastic surgery clinic (J - please write and tell me if this is true ;) and I feel I am being put into a deep Celtic trance of relaxation.

It makes it difficult to chew properly.