Right, that's it! I am fed up with being miserable & ill for no reason whatsoever! Still recovering from the flu, I came down with a cold. You know the kind - a thick head, oceans of phlegm, talking like a teenager with an adenoid problem - nice.
Chris says he still loves me. "What, even though I'm a snotty troll?" "Yes, even though you're a snotty trollop." Okay, it's close enough.
Several sleepless nights, woken from dreams by a torrential left nostril, have left me crotchety and tired with a cough like an eighty year old chain smoker - yuck. I can't sing, I haven't been laughing nearly enough - time for action.
Since the sun is shining, I decide to focus my attention outwards - a bit of mindful meditation on nature - that should get me out of this introverted grump.
As morning steals across Petworth town centre, the birds come out to play. Our town stalwarts the Jackdaws flap & parp from rooftop to chimney, gossiping together before taking off in search of sustenance. (They reconvene in the evening, I swear to settle down with a cuppa in front of Coronation Street.)
Starlings, oily, shimmering, march stiffly up and down the church roof, like Private Jones from Dads Army. Pied Wagtails hop with furious staccato movements - monochromatic clockwork toys which never wind down. Wood Pigeons cuddle & coo - united, united, united (listen out for them). I don't have to look far for inspiration.
Three days ago we were treated to a spectacular sight. Hovering directly above the town centre were two pairs of Buzzards. About 500 feet above the ground, they wheeled & swooped, riding the thermals. Suddenly one of them dived. Folding it's wings tight into it's sides, it plunged towards the earth & into the trees below. Who knows which poor rodent was forced to meet his maker, the Buzzard didn't reappear.
The remaining three Buzzards continued to circle directly over our heads. Suddenly a squadron of Jackdaws hove into view, swiping, diving, driving them off course. It was like an avian version of The Battle Of Britain, the similarity accentuated as Chris loudly hummed the theme tune. Spectacular.
As we sat for the first time this Spring, revelling in the warmth of the sun & delighting in the views from our roof terrace, the Buzzards returned. I gazed skyward, trying to spot these graceful birds of prey.
"I can't see them."
"They're definitely up there. I can hear their cries, they're very distinctive."
"Oh, what do they sound like?"
Chris paused, frowned in thought... "Urrgg-uurrr-urgh, but higher pitched." The noises accompanied by a special beak face (of course).
"Sorry, can you do the noise again."
"Urgh-uuurrr-urgh." This time with Owl-like facial movements that suggest he is about to regurgitate a pellet of bones & fur.
By this time I'm convulsed with laughter. I swear, living with Chris is akin to spending all day in a surround sound cinema. The fact that his hair was standing on end, forming a birdlike quiff, just added to the Buzzard impression.
Sure enough though, above us soared a pair of fine birds of prey - drawn, no doubt, by Chris's uncanny impression.
When the sun ceased to shine on the roof terrace, I retreated indoors to fiddle about with my wee clay torso. Let me tell you what I'm up to: This sculpture was created with the help of a book. The author shows step by step how to form the foundation of a figure by using blocks & balls to create the main skeletal areas such as the pelvis & ribcage. It looks simple, but I was behaving like a stroppy school girl when I started it. My ego was a bit put out at the prospect of what it saw as "sculpting by numbers". "
"Och, I've got an MA in Fine Art - I know what I'm doing. I won't bother getting my proportions right or angling my blocks, getting the dimensions correct. Nah, I'll just slap the clay about & see what happens". Well I'll tell you what happens - you spend hours trying to correct the basics when you've already spent an age working on the surface detail. Pants.
Serves me right. But I'll tell you, I learnt a lot from that. I learnt a lot from the book, however grudgingly. Working with the basic building blocks is helping me to understand the anatomy of the human body. The more I know, the less work it is to arrive at a good foundation from which to express myself. Simples.
So I'm happily sculpting, trying out my new tools, and I see a flickering black blob in my peripheral vision. Impatiently I brush it away - a fly enjoying the sunshine, just like me.
Later that evening Heidi came to call. As we chatted on the sofa she paused. "There's something moving in your hair." Reaching out she plucked a small spider from my head. The same intruder that had distracted me from my sculpting. This arachnid tourist had been seeing the sights from the top of my head for the last five hours! I reckon he had hitched a lift while I was rootling around behind the television earlier (don't ask).
Now I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to spiders, or any creepy crawlies. I don't wish them any harm - just don't do your crawling on me. But, as my mum always said, what you don't know can't hurt you. A spider living in my hair? I didn't know it was, so I didn't care. Mind you, it was a little one. I can't say I'd have been so sanguine if it had been a Tarantula.
Not satisfied with being removed, my new best friend proceeded to work his way back up the sofa and attempt once more to cadge a lift on my head. What is so attractive about my hair? Heidi reckoned that he was trying to get back behind the telly.
The next day Chris & I were in our turret. Craning his neck to peer into a hole in the window frame, Chris started to exclaim. "Oh, it's gone. He got it!" What is he talking about? "The fly, it's gone. There was a wee spider in his web earlier & a humungous fly flew into it. It was wrestling to escape but the spider started circling it with his fangs out, waiting to paralyse it with poison. It must have got it & dragged it down into his hole."
OH MY GOD!
What if it was my travelling companion? He must have been starving after his round-the-house trip. Yes, but he wouldn't eat me...would he? I pondered the gory scenario. Eugh!
Ah but he didn't - a prescient reminder to me of this eternal moment of Now. And so I'd say my mindfulness meditation was a success and a failure.
Focusing my attention outward on the world around me made me forget my introspective imaginings and left space for creativity.
But I had a spider in my hair for five hours and I didn't even notice it.
Not very bloody mindful!
