10.40am (up in the night at 3am and 4am sore throat and fever)
I am sitting upright in bed, the window in the bathroom is open, I can hear the river flowing outside. Its a grey day, cold with some sun between the clouds. Least no snow today. Kids last day at school, two weeks break for Easter. I love Easter. Pace Egg play at Heptonstall on Friday, picnic in the Yorkshire Dales Saturday, egg hunt in the woods Sunday.
I feel really unwell, drained, temperature, sore throat, can’t write much, no energy for this.
Patrick got the kids up. Naoise came and gave me a lovely lovely cuddle and bought me up buttered toast and marmite to eat in bed. Naoise is such a caring child. I cherish his affection.
Syd walked to school, Naoise scootered.
Patrick went to work in the car and then returned to take me to the GP. The doctor listened to my chest, took my oxygen levels, pocked a stick onto my tongue so he could stare down my throat. Asked me questions. Said to go home take pain killers, cough syrup, come back in a week if things didn’t get better and he would do am x-ray. I think that I will be fine, probably just run down, its been a stressful few weeks, with Patrick changing jobs then nursing everyone better one week. Intense time this week trying to get the Ma Ma/Boo Boo film complete. I don’t mind hard work, in fact I really love it, I love to be busy and never to have a moment to think, to fill every moment of time with art, or reading, or caring or researching, or listening to others stories. Clothes get washed and folded, dust eventually gets removed, the mess of life gets ordered.
The washing machine is beeping, I put a load of towels in to tumble dry. The buzzer sound is insistent, like a small child it demands attention. I go downstairs take out the warm laundry fold it into neat piles, put it in the clean laundry bag. Its impossible to stop. You cannot stop housework. It never stops repeating itself. Routine. Ritual. Routine. Ritual. Should try to stop, rest, get well.
I went to see a film last night directed by Luc Besson called Home, its about climate change. I was watching it with a group of people from Todmorden called Alternatiba, who are organising a festival of climate change alternatives to take place on 3rd May in the town. It was a beautiful and haunting film, shot from an ariel perspective. The venue was a baptist church. A strange context, the screen sat just above the altar as if digital preacher. I left feeling sad. This is the world that my children have been born into, a fragile, vulnerable world that is being depleted of its resources, destroyed by humans. By industrialisation. By war. By the want for more and more energy, by consumerism, by insatiable greed.
The film wasn’t a revelation, just confirmation of what I already knew. I am not just sad I am angry, recycling, re-using, composting, eating vegetarian food, using the car as little as possible (ideally shouldn’t have a car), buying second hand, keeping the allotment, turning off light switches, reducing energy are all well and good, but I am not convinced that this will amount to stopping climate change. Its about fighting back at those who hold the power and the purse strings the rich 2 percent. Ordinary people need to fight back. Fracking, mining mineral resources, making weapons of war, the use of pesticides, farming on an industrial scale, over fishing, palm oil plantations, the destruction of the rain forests, the melting of the ice capes, its obscene, what have we done. Our home is ill.