Substack diary no.141: Saturday, 2nd. May 2026

Looking out of the window to my right I can see the most stunning roses; golds, orange and red-tipped like little balls of flame in a country-house hearth. Next to them is the potentilla which, although nowhere near as showy, provides a multitude of small yellow flowers all the way through from April to October. A dozen or so birds were foraging in my back garden earlier; robins and thrushes pecking at the ground alongside blackbirds, all within a few centimetres of each other.

Nature has given me a lift this morning from down to better. The endless trudging on an imaginary treadmill to a destination where my life can begin has been getting me down of late. I have not arrived, like a traveller at sea on a ship with broken engines that is drifting aimlessly at the whim of tide and weather. Will I ever be in a place where I can enjoy my books, my writing, my music, my films, my beer and wine, my cooking – and companionship? It feels pointless thinking of these things right now.

All I really want is a home where I can engage in all those things and which is set in a landscape that I feel drawn to and part of. At some point later this morning I will come to realise that I am unlikely to arrive at such a destination, where life as I want to live it can begin. I will, as I always do, snap out of my malaise and accept that things could be a lot worse, and that I must make the most of what I have, stepping off the imaginary treadmill, if only momentarily. I will then, of course, be standing still. Going nowhere. But at least I have nature on the other side of the window.