I’ve got a confession to make. In the past when writers have told me that they can’t write because they are ill or just in too much pain, I haven’t always been as sympathetic as I might. I’ve sometimes (though not always) been guilty of secretly thinking I couldn’t let that stop me, or they’re just not trying hard enough. Well I won’t be thinking that quite so much in the future. I’ve been unwell now for some weeks and in a lot of pain with my back. I’ve found it impossible to write, barely possible to think. I’ve spent a huge chunk of my days binge watching on Netflix – I am currently on series 3 of The Good Wife (recommended). Here ends my confession. There are times when life gets in the way of writing and this is one of those times for me.
I’m concentrating on trying to get better, on relaxing, on meditation for coping with pain, on ordering my days just to suit me. One scary thing I’ve learned is that doctors are willing to prescribe medication with serious consequences without any discussion with their patient. I’ve been horrified by this. Thankfully I have an alternative, in the shape of a dedicated and respectful osteopath who I’m sure is beginning to help me.
It’s been a strange summer so far, often damp and depressing and consumed by Brexit and it’s awful aftermath. I think maybe my back came out in sympathy. But good things are never far from reach. My garden for one. It’s given me great solace, and although I can’t really work in it, my partner, J has been looking after it beautifully.
So now, Brexit be damned, I am fully intending to celebrate Bastille Day, July 14 th here on the blog with a guest post by the wonderful Isabel Costello. Isabel will be talking about her love affair with France and I will be reviewing her debut novel Paris Mon Amour. Don’t miss it!
And if like me your pining for a taste of France – then take a look at Lifetwicetasted’s beautiful Postcards from Marseillan
