THE WINDLESS OCEAN

We’re out of the Premier Inn! Not that we’re not grateful for it. We won’t miss the slightly too-bright corridors or the grubby carpet, but above the flood, the budget hotel rose magnificently in our hour of need. I’m thankful.

Talk about one step forward, two steps back though! The surveyor came over yesterday and found, to a certain amount of my quiet dismay, that more extensive work is needed, under the floors. The disruption is likely to last for weeks.

I’m so tired I don’t even have the energy to worry. I didn’t know this phase of exhaustion existed. Beyond the woozy head, past the emotional floods and the snappy snaps, is a kind of sea of calm nothingness, a flat ocean of indifferent inactivity. I can’t get cross. I can’t get sad. I can’t be happy. I can’t do anything but think about the little tiny step forwards that’s next today. Tomorrow doesn’t exist. Yesterday was a dream. There‘s only the windless sea of the doldrums.

I know. It’s a dangerous place to be. I could accidentally speak my mind, upset everybody with a blunt opinion, and simply not realise. I could make a terrible decision because I haven’t calculated the outcome. I could do all sorts of damage and all I’d see is the still pond stretching to the blank horizon. I’m in trouble and there‘s no motivation to get sailing.

Self aware though still. That must be evident. So it’s not all bad, I guess. Tomorrow someone’s coming over to do the next bit of inspection in the kitchen. I’ll be there to stand impassively by in my coat.

The good news is that we might well be able to go home at the weekend. More about how, later, but it is possible. At least Saturday will afford us the luxury of sleep in our own bed. Someone the other day (I can’t remember who) told us that you can’t underestimate the power of sleeping in your own bed. That sounds right.

Meanwhile the rain pounds melodiously on my father-in-law’s skylight windows. It’s dark out there in the way that only autumn nights in Britain can be, with wind whipping soggy leaves and cold rain past glistening street lamps, puddles, and car headlamps.

I really need to go home now.