Prickly as Brambles

13th September 2011

Early morning hot chocolate with a dear friend in town to fortify me for my shopping mission. I’m on the hunt for a long or short outer garment in navy to wear with a dress I already have for a smart evening dinner next week - a farewell do for my husband from his company. My friend says she can lend me a lacy cardi which is a relief as my expedition is fruitless - I will have to take back the two drapey things I bought as they look all wrong with the dress.

I always feel anxious about these sort of events - hate being (semi) centre of attention. Stressing about the outfit is just a distraction from the dread of it all.

My husband takes me and my new haircut out to lunch at Wagamama’s - I pick out all the spring onions in my crispy noodle salad with my chop sticks and add them to his plate. I miss a few and I’m left with strong onion breath all afternoon. Afterwards we walk and talk in our local park, the blackberries and sloes all out of reach on their prickly branches, bending in the wind.

I ask my husband if he feels any different - it’s the third week of his exclusion diet. He says he doesn’t - apart from having lost some weight. I ask him if he has any plans for his life now that he has what he wants - time to create. He says not really - he’s still feels resentful about the ending of his career - pushed out, demoted. Lost. So he looks at the sky instead and says aren’t the clouds amazing.

I feel a bit lost myself and as prickly as the brambles. I find no consolation in clouds.

I can see that getting used to our new situation is not the same as accepting it. You can get used to walking with a stone in your shoe. But it still hurts.

Tonight driving back along the M5 from a DVD night with two delicious women I follow the path of the full moon - a silver scrying bowl swirled with crystal tears.