This is a space to acknowledge the incomprehensible muck of the past week that I’m having trouble articulating beyond retweeting other people’s witty things.
(It appears there is no plan. I don’t like not having a plan. This comes from having a Mum that quizzed me every morning as I sleepily slurped my cornflakes, “Right Shauna, what’s The Plan today?”.
How do you navigate a rocky road without one? It seems there is no To Do list; no colour-coded spreadsheet. Not even a wee mind map scribbled on a fancy stationery with a gold-embossed B J on it.)
In recent times I’ve improved in the Feel The Feelings Instead Of Eating Them department, but last night there was a very necessary bowl of sticky toffee pudding at the pub.
More importantly, there were good friends to really talk with – Aussie Helen and Welshman Russell visiting from England.
“Anyone know a good joke? Anyone?” said Helen at one point, as the conversation yet again returned to Brexit.
In the ended we decided it was just bloody okay to wear our ranty pants for the evening and talk of little else, for this was huge stuff.
I later sent her this video of Adam Buxton‘s dog joyously bouncing through a field, which we can refer back to as needed during these uncertain times.
I’ll be back with a Foxy By 40 update on Tuesday.