It’s January! It’s the time of year that we all start making lists of things we’d like to improve and/or commit to. Mine is so long and ambitious that I’ve kept it secret. I keep thinking – yes! That’s what I’m going to do this year – only to be scared at my audacity. I’ve just written and deleted the list twice. Perhaps we can have “guess the resolution” instead, since if I’m successful in my resolve this year will be slightly different in tone than previous years. I’ll give you a clue to help you start guessing – three are things I’m planning to give up, three are new habits I wish to acquire.
Of course, there was no sign of cold turkey during Christmas – neither the literal nor the metaphorical since we served goose. The two weeks on the Isle were mostly blissful – walks on the beach with the pupster, games on the carpet with the pupster, rich food (some of which was shared with the pupster), present opening (the pupster got the lion’s share), time with friends and family, merriment, parties and television.
And now we’re back. And it’s dark, it’s cold, we’re in a poky little flat off the Old Kent Road (one of London’s grimiest, grimmest corners) with no sea air to breathe, chalk downs to climb or Badger Ave comforts (television, tumble drier, garden, unlimited hot water) to enjoy free of responsibilities of independence.
We were scared that Skye would hate us for bringing him back to a tiny flat devoid of garden and doting grandparents. We got home last night at 9pm and I raced across the road to the evil empire to buy milk, vegetables, chicken livers (only the best for our pupster) and breakfast supplies, leaving TA to clean up stinky dog poo (on the paper after a car, boat, bus, train, bus journey – well done, Skye!) When I got back TA said in a doleful voice “he hates it here” and I nearly crumpled. But then I saw the little monster wagging his tail and the big monster smirked, “he loves it! He’s been running from room to room with his tail wagging madly.” The relief was even more overwhelming when I finally climbed into our bed last night. Our cold, hard, unforgiving futon; I was thrilled to lay down, reach over and hold my husband while at the side of the bed, on a pile of cushions, the pupster prince slept soundly. Home at last.