On top of that, after lovely parents weekend spent in Maine, with my daughter and my ex-husband and various friends, a weekend filled with football games and beer pong and lobsters and L.L. Bean and laughing and staying at friends houses and visiting book shops in small New England towns and seeing old friends and eating pink lady apples fresh off the trees, I have come home cleverly with a miserable cold that has turned into gravelly voiced bronchitis, so that I sound like a distinctly un-sexy old man.
But, I am aware that while lying in bed at night and looking out at strange stars, or finding poems in the early morning when I can't sleep, or even driving to a Q&A with my client last night, down Sunset Boulevard, packed with cars driving too fast, or looking at the way the night comes early now as I sit at the dining room table and mourn the passing of summer, and whenever I feel even a little despair, I conjur up an image of the sweet man I have a little crush on and suddenly all is well and I have a silly smile on my face. It's so odd isn't it that even the thought of a wonderful person produces a warm and not unlovely glow, akin to the way you feel on bonfire night as a child when your hands are cold and it's slightly raining but somebody brings around the hot sausages on sticks and you can see the embers of the fire smouldering, with pictures in them. For the first time in quite a long while, and this may sound a little odd, it's easy for me to fall back asleep when I wake up in the middle of the night because I just close my eyes and think lovely thoughts and then everything is cozy and warm and OK. The world no longer seems menacing or even slightly scary. I said to him the other day, "it's nice to have someone in your corner" And it is. It may be nothing. It may be something. But today, with the ghastly broken finger and the voice that sounds like a coalminer and the prospect of spending 11 hours on a Transatlantic flight, absolutely nothing seems unsurmountable.