8.30am awake since 6.30 am

I am home. I am glad to be home to be back and to establish a comfortable reasuuring familiar routine.

My holiday was good but glutinous. First thing this morning I braved the scales. I was not at all surprised by my findings. If you stop writing and stop moving as much and start relaxing and eating more weight gain is entirely inevitable. I have been a pig the past two weeks. I have lost will power and I have let go of my waist line and I have gained around five pounds in weight or between 5 and 8 packs of butter. Yuk. Not just me though my partner in crime has gained similar.

I feel like a character from a Roald Dahl book. I am lumpy and bumpy and farty and slow.

I have eaten chocolate, ice cream, clotted cream, crisps, chips, bread, bread, bread, pasties and more. I have had seconds and portions that would feed all the knights of a kingdom. I have eaten and eaten and eaten. Perhaps holidays are stressful. There is pressure to make every moment count to have fun each second.

I sat. I sat on the sand and read. I read The Wild Places by Robert Macfarlane. I thought about how this place cornwall was once wild, but is no more. Now that the tin has gone, it has been tamed by the motor car and tourism. I thought about Assynt and Strathnaver, I thought about the wild of our holiday in the highlands  one year gone and I compared it to this static caravan beach holiday.

I was well and truly beached in cornwall. I deliberately tried not to think. I lived for two weeks in-between the day dream and the constant searching of the now. I am still searching for the now. The washing machine is working its way through a valley of washing.

The buzzer on the oven timer has sounded. Today is a full stop. Today is a new beginning.


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