It's nearly 3 am and I'm sitting in the shed. From the other side of the fence I can hear the gentle snorts, snuffles and grunts of a couple of young boar settling down in the ferns. I can tell they are young by the depth of their grunts, nowhere near as deep as the big daddy that chased me down a path this spring. With a shed wall and a fence between us, the noise is strangely comforting. With nothing but air between us, I run like hell and scream like a whoopsie.
Today should have been shedathon day 1 but it didn't go quite to plan. Last night I had a whole bottle of red wine. A deep, delicious and very heady Californian Zinfandel. It was divine. And do you know what? I got 8 hours uninterrupted sleep. Heaven. I woke up feeling almost normal and ready to tackle the world. No hangover, no stomach ache, just awake. I gave up my weekly wine hit two months ago, however I'm thinking of reinstating it. If I can get one night of solid sleep a week, albeit alcohol induced, that'll do me. And before anyone tells me how bad it is, trust me I know.
So, my day of being AWOL from the shed; I spend a whole day shopping. This from a person who would rather sand wooden floors than go to a mall. Something strange happened in John Lewis'. I don't know if it was the bargain half price plates I bought, the dazzlingly bright napkins ( I know I could make them myself ) or my new incredibly loud pyjamas but I actually experienced a previously forgotten sense of pleasure from consumerism. For the first time in I don't know how many years, I tried clothes on and even bought them. Believe me, it just doesn't happen. But I might know why it it did. Diazepam.
I can fully understand why diazepam is prescribed with caution and not for extended periods, it's very addictive. It's bloody marvelous. I feel human again. I feel like me. Cancer, pah. Who gives a monkeys? With no alcoholic cosh the insomnia is immediately back but after diazepam there's no angst about being awake, I feel calm and can get on and do stuff till I'm exhausted enough to sleep.
I wonder what the neighbours think I'm up to at night in here. There can't be many people who wander down to the end of the garden and burn the midnight oil in their shed. They don't know I make bags; they peer put of their bedroom and have a nose when they think I'm not looking but I pull the curtains across. Just to add to the mystery, I emit the odd blood curdling scream when a tarantula stomps across my desk. This is usually followed by a heavy thud and frenzied activity to expel the beast. It may be a posh shed inside, but a shed is a shed and tarantulas will get in somehow.
The day hasn't been totally written off. I created a pattern for a friend at work, who's been searching for a particularly hard to find accessory bag. It's been a bit of a challenge as I've not made anything like it before but I'm quite enjoying it. It is amazing what you can do when you put your mind to it. What makes the challenge even more enjoyable is hearing the feedback from ladies who have received one of my bags. Hand on heart, everybody who's bought one has been very complimentary and I thank them all, very much.
Well, two yawns and now drooping eyelids. I do believe it's time for bed. I just hope the cold walk back doesn't wake me up. Or a boar decides to give chase.
Night all.
