To Thine Own Self

I knew something was terribly wrong. There was no immediate warning, just a subtle build  up of unease as the day wore on. I kept going to do something and then stopping suddenly, aware of a sense of disquiet as if an order had been breached, a rule flouted. All day the feeling stayed with me, through bringing in a wheelbarrow load of firewood, folding the dry washing preparatory to ironing it, and spending hours on the computer trying to find the best alternative to my current car insurers. I wallowed in the crossword for a while, and scanned the paper without actually reading much of the content - when did the news get to be this universally bad? In the evening I went out for supper at the home of two friends, probably the most contented people I know. Their lives are ideal, their house beautiful, their social circle interesting and active. A year ago I might have found it all a bit much, and envied their idyll. But last night I mused on the differences between their lives and mine, and the paths we each took to get where we did. They almost certainly wouldn't choose to be me, but on the whole I probably would. It's just about accepting who you are and where you are, I think, and getting on with it, making the most of it. My path might be thornier, but it's my path. And they haven't created two utterly incredible human beings.

After a lovely meal they offered me coffee, and I refused, about to say that I only ever have one cup a day. And then it finally dawned on me what was wrong: I hadn't had my daily latte! No wonder everything was thrown out of kilter, my routine destroyed, my morning shot of ecstasy denied me. This really is a high spot of my day. It's a wonder I was able to function at all.


Today I spotted my first onesie. Frankly I couldn't believe my eyes. It was in the Co-op in Halesworth, and I don't know if the wearer had chosen an enormous size deliberately or if that's how they're worn, for the crotch was down near her knees, the bottom hanging loose like Baloo's. Being a deep, dark pink with a fur-edged hood, at first I thought it was fancy dress, Mother Christmas. It was probably lovely and cosy but frankly degrading, suitable only for a small baby. Haven't lots of stores banned shoppers from wearing pyjamas? They should ban this awful garment too. As its owner might have said, "Ow. My. Days!". Sorry.

People wear these outdoors - I'm not making it up