Another year. It’s January 7th . It’s been nearly four months since I last posted. Hope, expectation, disappointment, worry, frustration. Repeat. Repeat again. It seems we can cope with confinement, with a barrage of financial, personal and professional body-blows, with travelling blindfolded through a long, dismal tunnel, but coping strategies have now worn very thin. We do need to feed our capacity for optimism.
And we’re not all singing from the same hymn sheet any more. We’re negotiating the same choppy, troubled waters but in different ways and in different crafts. With less tolerance than before. Like many others, I’m pinning my fragile new 2021 shoots of hope on the vaccine rollout.
Now that the festive season has been and gone, (more ‘no’ than ‘ho’ this year), new novels and the jigsaw puzzle have given way to screen dependence again. Generally underwhelming, with no binge-worthy offerings based around chess or the monarchy. However, I did expect good things from the second series of ‘Staged’, (with Michael Sheen and David Tennant). None of those good things was forthcoming. And who would have thought that the word ‘f***’ would pop up quite so many times in one 15 minute episode – I stopped counting at 30 – or that the word ‘scintilla’ would be uttered twice (in the same episode)?
2020 ended with rare snowfall. Only a couple of centimetres, but it’s been icy, frosty and bitterly cold for a week. Today, the last remnants of polar frosty stuff gather in corners and cling to rooves. The donkeys stayed in as their paddock was crisp and white.
And the vet visited this afternoon. Blackberry, our eldest pet sheep, had reached the end. We’d been waiting for her to slip away since before Christmas. She clung on – arthritic, wavering on her pins, getting thinner, falling over and needing to be set upright again. Every morning she still greeted us, the tamest and most vocal sheep of my acquaintance. ‘Just a sheep’? Tonight, there’s a feeling of relief and inevitability with a little whisper of sadness.