Mood Swings, from the Garden to The Swan

Those of you who have commented on my state of mind in the previous post are quite right. I do indeed sound sad and unhappy. Rereading the post has confirmed that I really must do something to retrieve my mojo before it is too late.

But, hang on a minute. Must I? However we happen to feel at any given moment, are we not free and entitled to do so? These feelings are our very own and are we not allowed to feel them? If not why not? Who says? Since Beloved's death six years ago now I have missed him tremendously and, in spite of being a person who enjoys solitude, I often feel lonely. Agreed, it is not good to overindulge in the "poor me" side of things; on the other hand I am not going to feel guilty for allowing myself a heartfelt, deep sigh now and then.

However, thank you for picking up on my unhappiness; it means that you gave attention to my post and felt close enough to say so. Thank you. I appreciate it.

If only I could get my hands back into the earth. August is a slow month in the ornamental garden, although spring and early summer have left gaps and tired patches, high summer brings exuberance and colour, and even though it is all a bit wild and woolly, I don't want to mess with it until September. I've been pruning the shrubs that flowered early, leaving them ready for next year . But the real hard work  must be left for now. In September hedges will be cut which means piles of bonfire material. From October onwards herbaceous clumps will have to  be divided and replanted. 

Hm, writing this makes me look forward to the work. Perhaps my mojo will return? I told you it is all a bit of a wilderness, very English cottage garden.

Have you ever allowed yourself to be shamed into reading a book? I have. The 2020 Winner of the Women's Prize for Fiction was 'Hamnet' by the esteemed Irish writer Maggie O'Farrell and several friends were praising it to the skies. I had actually started to read the novel, the part-imagined life of Hamnet (Shakespeare's son) and the effect his early death from the plague at the age of eleven had on Agnes (Anne Hathaway) and the family. But I had given up  fifty pages in; although able to appreciate O'Farrell's  luminous language I simply found the casual violence and brutality of the 16th century hard to take; perhaps I was in one of my 'delicate' phases when only escapism would do. 

The review in The Guardian was glowing and I trust The Guardian's critic to get it right. 

"Hamnet is evidence that there are always new stories to tell, even about the most well-known historical figures. It also confirms O'Farrell as an extraordinarily versatile writer, with a profound understanding of the most elemental human bonds – qualities also possessed by a certain former Latin tutor from Stratford."

What finally persuaded me to read it was that friends and I had been lucky enough to get much coveted tickets for the adaptation of the novel  for the stage. The whole run was sold out and this was the show chosen to reopen The Swan in Stratford after two years of Covid closure and extensive refurbishment. Tickets were like gold dust and my friend had booked our seats almost twelve months earlier.

That meant I simply had to read the book. I picked it up and started from the beginning and found I could not put it down. I think I must have read it in maybe two or three sittings. It is a wonderful book. Even those whose interest in Shakespeare is less than mine will find something in it. The one thing you do have to have to read it is a an appreciation of good writing and a deeply human story.

We had quite a good time in Stratford, I'll have to get back to it. The first outing away from Valley's End for two years!