Hello, welcome back, did you survive Christmas? Did you manage a sprout or two? Good job, now rejoice in the fact that it’s January, it’s cold (if you are Northern Hemisphere) and I’m sat in a shed at the top of my garden wearing a woolly hat, a scarf and wrapped in a great big wool blanket.
I have a studio, it’s here, it’s built and it sits a soggy trudge up the garden right by the chickens. I’m currently listening to cluck ‘o clock right now. There’s a raucous coming from the hen- pen which means someone’s laid an egg. Hens do like to tell you when they’ve laid an egg, it’s a thing they do. They emerge from their hen house triumphant. (I do wonder if they compare egg sizes like we do babies birth weights).
So yes, I have a shed, a space of my own, away from the house and requiring mum -head to be left at the door and me-head replaced once I enter. I’m ready surrounded by tea, pens, radio and dog and I haven’t the foggiest what to do. I’ve fought for years for space and time to do what I want and now I have it, I’m devoid of thought and my pen have been rearranged numerous times and are now in a neat little line which really isn’t me at all.
I’m sure something will come along soon.
While we’re all waiting for me to get my act together, here’s eleven ceramic owls that have found their way from the house to my shed and are sitting staring at me.
They are strangely hypnotic and I can’t help but wonder if there’s a hidden camera checking that I’m actually doing some work and not just nodding off in my chair against the little oil heater which is oh so warm.
This early morning rising in the pitch black is always made extra joyful by getting the milk in from the front door in typically delightful Swansea weather.