Now, where was I?
Our connections to the outside world have been restored, at long last, by one intrepid young engineer spending a day in the snow and mud trying to put right others’ mistakes and to repair a tangled nest of rotten cables in a ditch. Now that the online essentials have been dealt with – banking, emails, groceries – I can turn to the more pleasurable pursuit of blogging.
It’s odd, though. We have been back online for several days, yet I have found myself reluctant to listen to the siren call of the blogosphere. I wonder why? It reminds me a bit of how I often feel at Easter, at the end of the Lenten fast. After six endless weeks of fantasising about how good that first lick of chocolate/ sip of wine/ whatever it might be that you have given up will taste, I come to the day when I can indulge to my heart’s content and am almost scared to begin. (Yes, the Lenten fast is about a great deal more than giving up chocolate, just as Easter is not about indulgence, but that’s for another post.) Perhaps it’s the blood of my Presbyterian ancestors calling to me, reminding me of the virtues of self-denial. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that once you start, it’s awfully hard to stop again.
Anyway, this is me just dipping a toe back into the water. We are busy with school half-term, but the siren voices are growing stronger. I look forward to diving back in soon, if you’ll forgive my tangled nest of metaphors.