Three people in as many days.

Where is Anne’s blog?

Haven’t heard from Anne in a while.

Why have you stopped writing, Anne?

If you have followed me at all, ever, you’ve probably picked up that I’m an extremely irritating and unrealistic fan of über-super-positivitiness, optimism against all the odds, hope over experience and all that J.

But even more, of honesty.

I haven’t written for a while because life has been a bit s***, frankly.

And I’ve been a bit drippy.

I may not manage this time either, but let’s give it another go again together. If you’re game, I am.

Let’s face it, life is being quite s**** for quite a lot of us. 

Loss of income.

Terror of a killer virus.

Loneliness to the point of suicide.

Redundancy.

Even bereavement, for some. Perhaps without even being able to say goodbye.

Pick your particular s***.

Or maybe (as it was for a friend of mine at the very beginning of the first lockdown) this is proving quite a good war for you?

I wouldn’t tell anyone this, she said. But Tim [not his real name, obv] is working in the next room instead of commuting to London at six am. The children are all home from school and university respectively, and playing tennis in the garden. And I am on eighty per cent of my usual earnings without going into work, catching up with everything around the house that I’ve been longing to do for years.

Well yes, you’ve guessed it. If you have a garden with a tennis court in it and some of your children are away at school and your husband commutes daily into the City, you could be having quite a good Coronavirus. (I think she might even have been by the pool as we spoke.) But before you seethe in flumes of loathing, she is also one of the loveliest creatures on God’s earth so please don’t resent my gorgeous friend. It’s not her fault she is blessed.

You and I are not having such a good Covid, I assume.

(Funnily enough most of the slime I’m going through is not actually to do with the Covid. Except the loss of income bit, which is slightly less fun than being kneecapped in a dark alley on your birthday.)

I think that’s probably enough of getting-back-on-my-horse-after-it’s-thrown-me-off for one day.

Last time it was: get outside before eight am.

So tomorrow how about we have: Really Irritating Tip No Two for Not Killing Yourself? I’ll try to be here if you will.

(The picture? I’ve recently discovered that pewter can come up really nice and shiny. I always thought it was a dull, depressing metal. Just thought I’d share that.

Look, give me a break, ok. Sometimes there genuinely isn’t much to write home about.

And the dog? What’s he for? Same as all them clergy in Tom Sawyer – or is it Huck Finn? Somebody find the quote for me…

“Him? He’s just for style.”)