I realise that often in life we are in a state of transition without realising it, from the moment we make our first baby steps, those first days at school, our first romance and onwards onto many journeys, some longed for, some unexpected. And then sometimes I feel that there is no transition and that really my world has become very small and is it even worth writing about anymore having rather turned into a project about naval gazing, bearing in mind that really my life has become the allotment, knitting, swimming and cooking (and the occasional drinking in the pub). When I was a little younger and pottering around London, I was happy to push those walls further and further back that surrounded me and try to experience all that I could. Now, well I’m pretty content to just let the walls build where they may without the fierce fight to keep them at bay. Then I’m just writing about the allotment and my little daily bits and bobs and really is anyone interested in that, they’ve probably heard my excitement and disappointments in my veg many, many times before?

But I am in transition, so let’s witter on about that. Last week I went to the local book club. This had many advantages to me. One was meeting new people and hopefully forming friendship groups from that. Of course the guidance of reading a new book and examining it afterwards is a great help, especially when there is so much being published these days. To me the writing industry seems much more prolific than when I was younger. I suppose that is the difference between having to write with a typewriter or by hand and now with everyone having a computer in their pocket. You could literally write a book on your phone. Next I received a fabulous goody bag of which I am very happy, a crime fiction about poisonous plants, what could be more exciting to a gardener. The book was Devil’s Breath by Jill Johnson. I’m waiting for the book of the month, it promises to be a wonderful read.

I’m giving you the full blurb given to us by the bookshop as it just sounds exquisite.

‘The Japanese bestseller: a tale of love, new beginnings, and the comfort that can be found between the pages of a good book. When twenty-five-year-old Takako’s boyfriend reveals he’s marrying someone else, she reluctantly accepts her eccentric uncle Satoru’s offer to live rent-free in the tiny room above his shop. Hidden in Jimbocho, Tokyo, the Morisaki Bookshop is a booklover’s paradise.

On a quiet corner in an old wooden building, the shop is filled with hundreds of second-hand books. It is Satoru’s pride and joy, and he has devoted his life to the bookshop since his wife left him five years earlier. Hoping to nurse her broken heart in peace, Takako is surprised to encounter new worlds within the stacks of books lining the shop.

And as summer fades to autumn, Satoru and Takako discover they have more in common than they first thought. The Morisaki bookshop has something to teach them both about life, love, and the healing power of books’. 

And it is our first piece of translated fiction, so it will be very interesting to read the tiny details involving identity.

Another advantage was to actually be out in the evening, to then sidle into the local hostelry and meet with people who I know but rarely cross paths. So a happy hour was spent chatting before ubering home.

Last winter was one I never wish to go through again, so I swore to myself that this winter there would be plans. And plans have been made starting with seven trips to the local theatres being booked and some already enjoyed. I didn’t know whether I would be happy to go on my own but actually its okay and the more I do it, the more comfortable I am with it. When I think about it that would have come from the trolling around London on my own and seeing some amazing West End matinee performances by looking at Theatre Monkey in the morning for cheap tickets and then dashing into the centre just in time to see the performance. Life is definitely a bit slower now!

And with that premise of going out in the evening, my sister came over and we went to watch a band in a local pub and that was good too and my intention is to do a bit more of that as well.

I mean to say, how long have any of us got? I received news two days ago that a dear photographer friend had died a couple of weeks ago from complications of covid and pneumonia combined with COPD that he caught in February. He’d been self managing and had been doing very well, even getting out to photograph, until he took a turn for the worse mid September and simply died while getting into hospital. It doesn’t bear thinking about does it.

So onwards I shall go, maybe to gently nudge the walls a little bit, to see where they shall go.