Silly me. I stooped awkwardly, without thinking, to reach for something in my fridge at breakfast time and hurt my back. Ouch! That has put paid to all my driveaway plans for the day. My back muscles need time to warm up first thing, and I shouldn't take that for granted.
Well, after some paracetamol, I stayed on my feet. Sitting down only made me stiffen up. I played music, had a soothing shower, cooked breakfast, then (gently) launched into this winter's session of scanning old prints from the 1990s. I have about a week's worth of places in Sussex to do. Then I get down to all the people shots, presently in a dozen boxes of prints. Even with a bit of weeding, there will be about two thousand of those to deal with, and I'm unlikely to finish scanning them all before spring comes. But I can make a good start.
I'm rather looking forward to seeing all those people pictures. It will vividly bring back the 'Horsham stage' in my life. Pictures of friends from twenty-five to thirty years back, almost all of them vanished from my life. I expect to resurrect many a memory. And I may be tempted to get in touch, all these years afterwards. Will I? Let's see what the pictures show. And how I feel nowadays about renewing old acquaintances. For years I shied away from looking people up; and not being on Facebook, it was simple to avoid any temptation to try. Indeed, I have wondered what the point of it would be. We must have changed in all that time. Most likely, too much. We'd be strangers to each other.
But I now have some evidence - in the shape of my long-lost but now-found friend Mark - that reconnections can work out well. Both parties older, wiser, and fatter of course; and yet still with a sense of humour and unfulfilled plans to pursue. And the essence of what made them likeable still preserved.
It's now mid-afternoon, and the back pain is starting to wear off. I ought to get some exercise. But it's damp outside, and beginning to get dark, and I really don't fancy even a quick stroll around local roads. It would however do me good. So I will venture forth, as soon as this quick post is finished. Well, maybe!
As for the long-distance drive I had planned for today, it can await a full recovery. Indeed, for a sunny day. This time last year, I had a long and invigorating Christmas Day walk around Ashdown Forest, which is some half an hour's drive from here. In glorious sunshine, with a fine sunset to see. It would be dull and misty today, and chilly as the light faded. No, a stroll around the village will do.
'Are you doing nothing Christmassy?' you may ask me. It seems not. I'm not antisocial, but there are historical reasons why I find it difficult to enjoy Christmas time, and I prefer to keep it as a day for doing personal things. Boxing Day is a different proposition, the far side of the mountain. And my mood gets ever more buoyant as the New Year approaches, although the need for solitude and reflection remains. New Year's Day is an entirely new page, and I always proceed from there with a re-energised and optimistic state of mind.
Yesterday I made the bookings for my Scottish Holiday in 2022. It'll take me to the far north, with a day on Orkney, and I'll be gone thirty-six days. I reckon the cost of caravan site fees, and holiday fuel for my car, will come to about £1,600. I can't afford that kind of outlay in May, when I usually visit Scotland, but I can manage it in September. So this will be a late summer/early autumn jaunt.
But there will be no special celebrations for my 70th birthday in July: I won't have the money for it. A few meals out with friends, yes, but nothing more. It's of no concern.
Sequel
I did get out for my village walk, and clocked up 10,000 steps as I was coming back. I hoped it would ease my back, but it didn't do that. However, I got plenty of fresh air. It was already dark when I set forth, although of course all roads were well lit up by all the Christmas lights and decorations festooned on every home. I saw people inside sitting around dinner tables, or watching giant TVs. I almost had the roads to myself. Two passing men, one old, one young, wished me a Merry Christmas, which I reciprocated. As usual, I felt rather detached from it all, but by no means uncheerful. I tend to regard the passing of Christmas Day as the bursting of an angry boil that has been building up for a month or more. Now the healing can begin.
