A bit of everything this weekend. Mundane and beautiful.
We cleaned the house in a purposeful, furniture moving sort of way and taxied working teens to their shifts. Steve baked baguettes and two types of bagels (plain and cinnamon raisin) and hacked at a mound of earth on a mission to transform it into a wildflower bank. We squeezed some work around the edges too; Steve in the shed office and me at the kitchen table with my laptop balanced amongst seedlings, books and a large Campari soda. I have a desk, but sometimes I need a different view of things.
I took my usual dog walk through the village, spotted purple honesty in the hedgerow, counted the moorhen chicks on the pond (all present and correct, phew) and about turned in a wood simmering with bluebells. Bumped into a neighbour who talked about DJing in the 1960s and how, when fights started on the dance floor, he just turned the volume up.
Eldest arrived for twenty-four hours and inhaled a bowl of chicken Caesar salad, chocolate eclairs and all the beers in the fridge. ‘Like the tiger who came to tea,’ he said smugly on a full stomach. Waved him off after a cooked breakfast, a pile of clean laundry tucked under his arm. What can I tell you? Once they go to uni, I am a sucker for an Ikea bag full of dirty t-shirts.
I sat in the garden, in the sun, ignoring the advancing army of cheerful dandelions and finished reading Bookworm by Lucy Mangan*. If you are in your, ahem, forties and fifties and loved books as a child then I highly recommend this nostalgic, funny and knowledgeable literary memoir. It’s the precursor to her latest, Bookish, which I will dive into, just as soon as I have made a dent in the towering pile of books by my bed. Someone said they could be knocked out by their falling TBR pile, and I am in imminent danger of a flesh wound from mine.
And now it’s Sunday night again. They come around awfully fast. Everything seems to be happening quickly. I can’t keep up. Which is why I try and hang on to each small, insignificant moment in a weekend like this one which has been shiny bright, noisy with bird chatter, kids bouncing in and out, enough time for a second coffee and the dog stretched out under the kitchen table every hopeful for a toast crust. I hope yours has been just as marvellous.
One Substack housekeeping note. I am going to pause paid subscriptions for the next couple of months. I don’t feel I can give the sort of value and content I wish to, and you deserve, while I am busy on the day job of writing for other people. I will still post, but I need to work out what this place will be in the future, nestled in a tiny space amongst the many brilliant blogs here.
The wealth of content and incredible writing on Substack is overwhelming and sometimes I wonder what I can add. This is absolutely not to fish for compliments, but I would love to know what you enjoy reading. If you like the every day stuff, would prefer more recipes, thought I was going to spill the beans about celebrities or accidentally follow me and are too kind to cancel?
Before I pause the paids, there will be a little competition for subscribers to win a signed and dedicated copy of my book.
To everyone else, thank you for following me and I hope you stick around. I am finding my way, in a less organised manner than I would hope, but I really like it here. And that’s not the Campari talking.
*Not an AD, just a fan.
I’ll be honest…I follow substackers who feel like my friends. We get to know one another. I like reading about ordinary days, seasonal change, ideas etc. I like leaving comments, which is like having a conversation, so that I can give back and support. I will only pay for ‘professional’ content that provides value in areas I need help. I say this to help you Lucy, I would love you to keep up these posts in the way that suits your values and lifestyle too.
Love your writing, Lucy. I so hope you continue (said while v much understanding the need to pause and reset).