What do you see?

One of the interesting things about living with a sighthound is she doesn't do normal things like smell or hear people approaching. If she catches sight of something interesting at the Antiques store or pub opposite, or the old guy in the sheltered housing comes over the wall to say hello (he used to roadie for the Rolling Stones and Jethro Tull so village lore goes), she stands on her hind legs and walks across the lawn like a 6ft meerkat. What she has just done is launched herself headlong at the TV as I finally was watching a longed for recorded documentary about Laurie Lee's trek across Spain in the 1930's (these are the treats I save up for myself when the pilot is away). There was an eagle, or a sheep or something on the screen and she shot off the sofa like a bullet and the screen blacked out. Yes, I am not whooping it up dancing on the tables at jazz clubs or swanking in galleries, but watching documentaries with a crazy dog about dead writers in a village in the middle of nowhere. These days I am easily pleased and it makes me happy.

When you are trying to sit down at the end of a long hard day (pitching for work, visits to the playground, bills, cleaning 'Eugh what are you doing?' cried the six year old 'Cleaning the loo ..' 'Eugh! Why? I'll never do that!' Well, what do you say? (Good for you sprung to mind - if you refuse to or ignore it someone else always takes care of it eventually ...) But somebody has to care about stuff around here - and that somebody is me. Writer, artist, mother, lover, wife, daughter, friend, toilet cleaner - you juggle as you see fit. Laurie Lee, I learnt, had a double life - devoted wife in the beautiful Gloucestershire countryside, and all the cultural stimuli of Chelsea. So in order to write books that touch people's hearts all I need is a wife and a berth at the Chelsea Arts? :) Maybe in another life. So, what do you do? Take a deep breath - but on the tip of my tongue was - sweetheart don't be a writer - if you hate it that much, be a banker, or marry one or you probably will be forced to clean the loo at some point). Of course you don't say those things. It's just been one of those days. And now the hound has knocked the TV out, (all you want is a quite hour at the end of the day with a chamomile tea or whatever your sleepytime treat is ..) and the pilot (text today from Aruba: 'I swam with flamingos!') is away until the weekend. I am tired, there are too many brackets, I am hoping desperately they won't notice the lack of cartoons tomorrow morning, and the fact that we are not sadly swimming with flamingos because we are on the way to hospital for the 2-year old's eye test.

What I loved about Laurie Lee's walk across Spain was that he set out with no agenda. He wrote beautifully about the claustrophobia of green valleys and the tight walls of cottages - I felt this growing up in Devon, and I feel it now in a low beamed 16th century house that isn't mine, that desperate desire to get out. Tonight, I would tango with flamingos, I would swim synchronised formations around Aruba if they were up for it, I am so frustrated and cabin-fevery. Is it just me? Who doesn't long for a grand adventure? Rory Stewart whose book I have stacked up to read on my bedside table (not only because the title is shockingly close to the one I still hope my second book will be published under), said recently on a video clip that when he set off on his epic trek across Afghanistan some wise old coot had said 'at the end of this journey you will know why you did it' or words to that effect. And Mr Stewart - bless his cotton socks - had the balls to admit at the end of it that he didn't. Bravo - hats off. I am 36 (nearly 37) years in and I still have no idea what journey I am on. What he had learnt, I don't know - I'm yet to read the book and looking forward to it. However I do believe that wherever you go, you take yourself with you. I've just checked in on my reasons for being here - asleep, flushed cheeks, baby curls pressed against their heads in the warm lamplight. For now, we are right where we belong. In other words - as you journey the answers are within you, and no amount of trekking or flamingos can help if you don't come to terms with yourself - which I think is what Laurie Lee was trying to do, as are we all.

TODAY'S PROMPT: What do you see? Forget what you think you see. What do you really see. Take your eyes off the screen and look around you (it is good for your eyes at the very least to have a break once in a while.) If you feel like it, tell us about where you are, where you write. If you need distraction, Doug Savage recommended the site On My Desk - if that isn't compulsive and doesn't get you wanting to fritz up your working space nothing will. Try and look at your writing space, your home with fresh eyes. Go for a walk - take half an hour during the day and open your senses - note everything single fresh thing that sparks your imagination and stays with you when you get home.