Deliverance

I toddled down to the summer house this morning, swaddled like Baby Jesus in layers of clothing. It was warm in there, and I settled down happily with the crossword though it quickly defeated me. It's the height of frustration, being unable to crack the clues. Usually I find that letting your mind go slightly slant, using a bit of intuition along with logic, enables rapid breakthroughs, but not today. I was staring crossly at it when something outside caught my eye, and there was the postwoman running, no galloping, across the garden. She didn't spot me and by the time I registered her she'd gone, skipping nimbly around the shingle path to the front. She'd been delivering parcels to the woodshed in my absence, and that could only mean one thing: books! Now, I know that delayed gratification is a sign of maturity, and so I made myself wait, frowning at the crossword for at least another minute before I retrieved them. The Narrow Road to the Deep North, How To Be Both, and Elizabeth Is Missing; the other two are coming tomorrow. Yum yum, delicious. But which one to start with? The Ali Smith will be thought provoking, a bit challenging though beautifully crafted and fascinating; the Richard Flanagan is a painfully personal account of his father's experiences as a Japanese POW; and Emma Healey has pulled off a coup with a detective story starring an old woman with dementia. I think I'm feeling a bit too delicate still for the POW one, and judging by my efforts with the crossword a bit too intellectually impaired for the Smith. So it will be the latter. Again, yum yum. I'm still feeling fragile, bunged up and headachy. Yesterday a sneeze exploded out of me and ripped through my middle. My tummy area was so sore I thought I'd be walking doubled up but it eventually wore off. They say most accidents happen in the home, but crippling yourself with a sneeze? There's nothing amusing about that.