I last published a post on the 23rd of this month. It has only just occurred to me that I haven’t written anything for a week, I have had a week away from blogging, and I can’t think why. It wasn’t intentional, and not due to lack of inspiration. I would like to say that I have been writing great articles for other blogs, or avidly catching up with the blogs that I follow. But I can’t, because I haven’t. Perhaps I have been writing up lots of drafts, fine-tuning works of potential excellence? No, haven’t done that either.
I might have been reading instead, getting back to all those half-started books; delving once more into the pleasures of literature, and the written word. Films, that’s it. I must surely have been watching lots of great films, ready to write good reviews about them? No, can’t get credit for either of those, as I have not read a single book, or watched one DVD. It’s a little worrying, wracking my brain, to recall exactly what I have been doing for the past seven days. Maybe I should begin to keep a diary, jot down things of note on a daily basis, to serve as a reminder. I could even do this electronically, on a blog or something.
But then I would have to have written something every day, and I have just had seven days without writing anything.
I am sure that you can begin to see my dilemma. I am having trouble remembering what I did for some of the last seven days. Is it any wonder that suspects get confused about their whereabouts, when questioned by the police? We have all seen it in TV shows and films. They approach someone, and ask something like, ‘Where were you on 23rd April, between 6pm and midnight? The suspect rarely remembers. If they do, it seems suspicious, both to the police in the programme, and to the viewer. I used to think that this was far-fetched. I was sure that I would be able to tell the police where I was, certain of it in fact. I now sympathise a great deal more with those characters. Where the hell was I, and what was I doing?
Of course, it is not a complete blur, I don’t have amnesia. I took Ollie out every day, for one thing. And I remember the weekend well enough, as I went for a long walk on Saturday, and we had a roast beef dinner on Sunday. I can recall the TV shows and programmes that we watched too, as well as a couple of telephone calls received. On Monday and Tuesday, I did some volunteering for the Fire Brigade, at a hotel near Norwich Airport. But as a week, it hasn’t seemed to have any focus, it didn’t pass smoothly, or flow as expected. In short, it just didn’t feel like a week usually does. It has felt like I have been away, and returned from somewhere.
Except that I haven’t.