Powerful Beat

The problem with the sun shining (which it is today, almost with a vengeance) is that it highlights the layer of somewhat greasy grime lying on the outside of my patio windows. This reminds me that there is work to be done – not only on the glass that sits under the blank-white sky, but everywhere I look. Dead and faded flowers wilt in my vase; dust gathers like tumbleweed in my bathroom, almost concealing the evidence of the odd darting silverfish, scurrying seemingly to nowhere. I’ve another play to write, and a novel to finish too, as well as two businesses to run. And yet I am gripped by lethargy; wrapped in its grasp of despair while matters of the heart cause me to sink further into a bubbling pit of debilitating bewilderment.

I spoke recently of how, since my marriage ended, I had set out on the road to the Emerald City and that at last, I was going back to Kansas. Somehow I appear to have mis-read the map and now find that the yellow bricks beneath my feet are beginning to crack and fade; leading me forever in the wrong direction. Unrequited love is a sad business because there are never any winners. The outcome is always messy – either one party has to suppress their emotions to the point where they become lifeless, or the other party gets their bunny boiled.

No matter. In the words of Sammy Davis Junior, the rhythm of life has a powerful beat and therefore it will always sustain me. The good thing about the sun shining is that – whilst not exactly putting a tingle in my fingers nor a tingle in my feet – it does lift the soul somewhat and also gives a waking call to the lurking spirit of enthusiasm. I am going to London today for the launch of my dear friend Nicola Monaghan’s latest book Starfishing. This will be a fun event and a chance to meet up with people I haven’t seen for a while. I’m even going to catch up with my lovely daughter Imogen which will be an added bonus. I’m quite excited.

So, while I now wallow in the lassitude that my misery brings to me, I know that it won’t be long before I spring back to my cheerful, jolly self. Perhaps I should try a de-tox programme to sharpen my faculties? Judging by the groaning sacks that await transportation to the bottle bank, it’s probably exactly what I need. A particularly close friend of mine – also in danger of straying from the path of righteousness – could join me. We could be like the Tin Man & the Cowardly Lion, supporting each other along the long and snaking road towards endeavour. What a good idea. Who needs Dorothy?