Housekeeper's Diary

Confession: it is one o’clock in the afternoon and I am writing this in bed, propped up by an abundance of mustard cushions, eating ginger cake and drinking yogi tea, while shivering my bum off because cold has settled into my bones and I cannot get warm for love, money or many a restorative bath.
And so for two days I have wandered about muttering to myself about the perils of high-ceilings in Victorian houses, wearing Ste’s mountain climbing socks, and camping in front of the radiators until this morning when I decided to give up the fight to stay warm downstairs and instead grabbed my supplies (laptop, phone, jug of water, migraine tablets, pile of books, headphones et al) and headed up the apple and pears.
My bedroom is my favorite place in the world. Here I am surrounded by my most precious things. The painting of the lady in pink, Finn used to believe was my Mum, this yellow quilt that was hers too, my Simple Abundance books, rose candles, the olive green cushion I adore, my basket full of cosy blankets, boxes full of memories and of course my comfort drawer, from which I have today pulled my almost threadbare pink pashmina to wrap around my shoulders.
On the mantle-piece I have lit a row of candles, and after snuggling deep down among the floral quilts in an effort to warm every last inch of me (a nest of sorts), I have shuffled up to lean against the over-sized headboard and watch yet more Skillshare videos, filling my head with the kind of knowledge I can at last use again. For it is true, despite these shivers, I am enjoying the kind of clarity that has evaded me for so long. And my thirst for knowledge is driving me all over again. A book always within grasp.
Oh were it not for the slings and arrows of hormones and emotion!
Life is hard right now. Money is tight and Ste a little broken. I have been battling the oddest sense of loneliness and having never known lonely before I hardly know what to do with it, Finley is so tall and I experience the body shock that is reaching up to hug him at the door daily as he jams headphones into his ears and wanders off towards a world I have no part of. I miss him terribly, yet enjoy him everyday.
He will be home soon. Often now carrying a little bar of chocolate in his blazer pocket for me that he will exchange for the cup of tea I will have ready for him. So I must get out of bed! Though I would much prefer today to receive visitors in my bedroom and be waited on hand and foot, I am neither Lady Muck, nor Coco Chanel and there is gammon to be roasted and work to be done!
I will take a quick shower and dress in polka dot pajamas and a cosy cardigan, insulating myself so that I do not lose the heat I have bathed in under these cosy covers. But oh what bliss today has been. What bliss it is to allow ourselves this kind of grace without beating oneself up with a “you are good for nothing” stick. I am learning now that practicing what I preach matters. That if I sit quietly and try to tune in to what I really need in any given moment, I can hear my body speak. And though my bodies demand might often seem outrageous (bed in the day, a few weeks without the red wine I adore, yoga poses that make me anxious), capitulating to its suggestions serves me better than constantly doing battle with my very self.
Later then, gammon for them and a warm salad of halloumi and bacon for me. Another episode of the wonderful sitcom, Mum. Another early night. Tomorrow blood tests and the bank and then a weekend full of boys and noise.
Loneliness be damned. I am surrounded, constantly, by so much love.