There are, as I type this, two bumblebees on the outside ledge of my office window sill. I won't describe in detail what they are doing, but if I say that I'm tempted to tell them to get a room, you'll have the basic idea. Yesterday's six hour downpour seems to have everything more vibrant and livelier. I was grateful, not least because I didn't have to heft watering cans all round the front garden. I just wish that my gorgeous scented climber rose Etoile de Hollande was a little more robust. The rain bent two stems down onto the lawn. The flowerheads are so big that they occasionally look like those anorexic stick-insect celebrities who end up resembling lollipops. One thing I can guarantee is that will never happen to me. However, the rest of my garden is blooming. The Black Knight delphiniums are glorious, the New Dawn climbing rose is giving the arch a run for its money and I have an attack of the Sweet Williams. Everything looks clean and fresh and fit for a carnival.
In fact, the rain has had another effect. I am rebelling against the strictures of my GP and her 'a little gentle exercise' because of my swollen knee. This morning, I am working in timed chunks and having a little dance for a few minutes in between. Is the resultant uplift in my spirits enough to counter the increased pain in my knee? Don't know. The jury's out on that one. But, with the help of Jurgen Wolff, I am embarking on a 30 day "Light Writing" programme that will not only focus my writing, but also help me back on the weight reducing/health bandwagon. I thank the powers that be that I only have to wait another 48 hours to see a physiotherapist and finally, I might find out what is wrong with the wretched knee and start back on the road to recovery. I found it very instructive that two of Jurgen's questions were 'how happy are you about your fitness level' and ditto about your writing productivity. Whilst I'm averagely ok with the second - 7/10, I am far from content with the first - 4/10. Hence the dancing. My only real sorrow is that I cannot cope with the local swimming baths mixed changing arrangements. I'm sure I've wittered on about this before, but I adore swimming. I've tried to get my head round meeting some geriatric leerer as I come out of the shower - sorry pal, no way am I taking my cozzie off until I get in the changing cubicle - but I can't. How can anyone shower properly with a swimming costume on?
My only other idea is to get to know one of the locals with a pool who wouldn't mind me ploughing up and down a few times a week. So, for the moment, I am reduced to walking Rufus to the nearest patch of green and throwing a ball until he flops on the grass and the odd, very odd, bit of dancing in between writing chunks. No wonder I've put 5lbs on in the last 6 weeks!
Of course, if some enlightened editor accepted my agent's view of "Duty of Evil", a swimming pool wouldn't be an issue. So, all together now, positive thinking. Om...swimming pool for Avril...om...