It’s a bit of an odd time. Every morning, I wake to the idea that I don’t work at ‘X’ all over again. So far, it’s just been one day feeling rather ill with a self-induced sore head and a day that would have been my usual Friday off. Tomorrow, however, it the first day of The Rest of My Life.
Well, actually, no, it isn’t. And I’m really rather annoyed with myself for being: a) a drama queen; b) self-indulgent; c) boring; and d) stupid. However, my brain insists on resetting itself during the night, so that the first two minutes of each day are boringly Groundhog Day-like. It will pass.
I’ve had some decent distractions. After I came home from my farewell do and crouched, keening, in the kitchen (having left my sunglasses and reading glasses in a taxi – let’s not get too dramatic about actual life events), the Girl rearranged a date and decided to accompany me to Spring Cottage (lest I finally did one of those satisfying crunchy chops with the secateurs and found my finger on the ground, perhaps?). But I really appreciated the thought, as I spend a lot of time there on my own, and going with someone else always makes me get out and do something different. Without other people, life would just be Sofa and Me: the end. Actually, that’s so not true but it’s what I fear.
ANYWAY… we went to Combwich, needing a breath of fresh air. For the benefit of everybody, that’s pronounced Cummidge, like Wurzel Gummidge. Oh, look it up.
It’s bleak up there on the Steart Peninsula – 15 minutes’ drive away, or about an hour if you go the long route via Dunball and end up on the wrong side of the River Parrett. Yes, well, bleak but lovely. Lots of herons, gulls, butterflies, wind and teasels. It’s also very ‘of the moment’.
Somerset has always been threatened by the sea. The Somerset Levels are so low-lying that they’ve been drained since King Charles II’s time. The water’s come in and retreated again and changed the fortunes of town and villages, like Bridgwater and Langport. And now, in times of climate change, the estuary on the banks of the Severn is seeing new developments as a result of changing sea levels again.
A major project to protect the surrounding low-lying area from the waters, with farms compulsorily purchased and sea defences built, has been taking place in the shadow of Hinkley Point nuclear power station, rather satisfyingly juxtaposing our ever increasing need for power and one of the effects of using it, in the same place. That’s Hinkley there, those two blocks over on the horizon below, and all its pylons marching across the countryside towards the National Grid.
But whatever your views on that – and mine are mixed – while we were walking into the wind, we spotted a moses basket on the riverbank. Odd, yes, symbolic, I’m not sure. Whatever – we passed it by, reluctant to disappear into the uncertain ground on the edge of the sludgy sand to see what it contained. Very interesting… Dr Freud might have said.
But I have arranged to see a labrador puppy in a couple of weeks’ time. Is there any meaning in that? For me, definitely, but more about that another time.