I’ve been busy. So easy to say that, but I had a catalogue to compile and it does take a lot of work. It is done now, however, printed and the labels, catalogues, envelopes and stamps have been given to D, to get ready to post. He says I know how he’ll spend his weekend. Yes, dear, it took me a solid fortnight’s work to do all this. But I don’t mind, funnily enough. Does it “give me something to do”? Hmm. I’ve got plenty to do and I could do exactly what I pleased in the autumn, if not for the sale. But, maybe it’s just stubbornness, I’m still not quite ready to give it up. I always say, maybe next year. And indeed, perhaps next year will be the last. Possibly.

I have the feeling that those dismal anniversaries might have triggered a turning point. I can’t be sure, but I am starting to feel moments of near-happiness. I appreciate any moment that I recognise enjoyment, I learnt that years ago – to live in the moment, not to assume anything for the future nor to let a cloud mar a happy experience.

What I have decided I need is to read more again. I used to read constantly and there were a few factors that stopped me being an obsessive reader. One was that life felt so stressful that I couldn’t get involved in fictional – or even factual – problems or situations. Another was, simply, the quality of “literary” novels, which were well reviewed and pretty awful to read. Not necessarily badly written, but self-indulgent, poorly characterised, overly long and gave me a feeling that the writer thought he (usually) had done me a favour by writing it. But I’ve gradually been working my way into reading more and, though it’s not necessarily possible to completely lose myself in a book for long, not yet, I hope to get there.

I also realise that I still get a buzz from involvement, in a work-ish sense – this isn’t financially motivated, some of my more fulfilling things are voluntary – as well as some of the least. Which reminds me, I should go down and check the church. I’ll do it now.