24 hours

The usual chaos of my life was made somewhat worse this past week as several random events intersected and I narrowly avoided being in two places at once, which is why I’m glad to have reached this sunny Saturday morning when all I have to worry about is whether Jacques brings in the mouse I noticed him carrying through the garden a few moments ago.

It was the week of our theatre show ‘Losing Louis’, which I still haven’t actually seen although I’ve heard it from my station by the props table, and I must say last night’s audience seemed to be enjoying it hugely. Anything else that happens in show weeks is really just an unwelcome distraction, including work and family crises. I just don’t have time to deal with them. So I wasn’t all that pleased when I rang my son on Monday to ask him to feed the cats at tea-time as I was going straight to the theatre to help dress the set, and he told me some men from Scottish Power were trampling through the garden saying they had to demolish the wall. I think of it as our garden wall, although I have always known that because there’s a Scottish Power sub-station in the yard behind our house, the wall belongs to them. Part of it had collapsed during the winter and I had attempted to alert someone relevant to this at the time only they insisted the wall belonged to the British Rail Pension Fund. Anyway, it is partly a retaining wall that stops our garden sliding down into the yard, so I am quite glad they’re rebuilding it, apart from the fact that they’ve put up temporary fences halfway down the garden and I’m worried the cats will get trapped somewhere in the rubble. Also George, whose brain works differently from everyone else’s, has a conceptual problem with the temporary fencing and doesn’t want to acknowledge its existence. See pictures at end of post.

The most crowded 24 hours of the week, however, were those in which I took the night train to London (no water in the coach), spent all day in a meeting, and returned home on the last train of the evening (heating couldn’t be turned off in the coach – moved to another one), which actually extended the time I was away to 25 hours by running late. It wouldn’t have seemed such a rush if I hadn’t had to go to the station for the night train directly from the theatre, and if I had had time for more than 6 hours sleep before going into work the next morning. However, feeling spaced-out at work can be an advantage. I just let everything wash over me, refused to be drawn into any email wars and decided to take the afternoon off to catch up on my sleep.

There’s something about utter chaos that brings out the best in me and may even lower my blood pressure. Maybe it’s the feeling things can’t get much worse.

George at the fence

George has a conceptual problem

the remains of the wall

The rubble at the end of the garden

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