Back in Blighty
Readers of a younger vintage than I (63) might be muttering: 'What's 'Blighty' when it's at home?' or words to that effect, probably ruder. The term refers to England, and was coined by soldiers during the first and second world wars. It was used occasionally during the 1890s Boar War, but came to common use during the First World War in India. It began as the word 'bilayati' a regional variation on the Urdu word 'vilayati', meaning European, specifically British. So there you go. Learn something new every day. Never knew that.
Point is, Husband and I returned from magnificent Madeira on Friday. 'Twas indeed magnificent. Temperatures in the comfortable seventies, glorious blue skies, flourishing palms (I love palm trees), a gob-smacking view of the sea and port – we regularly watched cruise ships coming and going, even at stupid 'o clock in the morning or night - and the old fort and the mountains, from our tenth floor hotel room. And the hotel grub. Oooh, the grub... I've got an article in my head over that one. Imagine, if you will, hordes of pensionable couples (of whom we were one) descending like hyenas on the bottomless, limitless buffet of starters, mains and desserts in the hotel restaurant. Those desserts...*sighhhh*. You don't want to see my platefuls. Positively vulgar. And Funchal, the main town in Madeira, is buzzing, picturesque, walkable. Luurrrve it!
I'll be posting a more detailed item about the trip later, but, in the meantime, as this blog is centred upon creativity and mental health, I'm talking about the latter right now.
Yesterday afternoon and this afternoon (Sunday and Monday), I suffered a blip. Every morning we pop out for an enjoyable coffee in town, or somewhere else if we're out and about, when Husband and I discuss physics, or micro adventures, or Terry Pratchett or giggle hystorically (my spelling) over rude jokes. I used to hate being at home, probably a hangover from being at home with small kids. Since my recovery, I've been astonished that I've been home in the afternoons and actually not minding it. It took a lot of CBT-ing (cognitive behavioural therapy) to drum into my subconscious the fact that I no longer have kids to care for at home. But sometimes my brain lets me down and I'm feeling 'bleuggh' at home. The cold grey weather doesn't help, obviously, but I've been organising my mini museum of antique curios (that's another story) and enjoying it until around 2.30pm when that 'bleuggh' feeling descended. I really, really didn't want to be at home. So Husband took me out for a magical mystery tour in my Mini Cooper around the countryside surrounding Alton, our town, in Hampshire. It's lovely, and we love it. Even in this cold, dank greyness. Husband drove me along the deep, narrow lanes in the depths of the countryside and through small, old villages. Even in this weather I love the colours.
I felt so much better. I really must learn. Don't hang around the house all day! Whether it be a magical mystery drive, a visit to another town and an antique shop, a trip to the coast, to London... Whatever. Go and enjoy, for goodness sake! :-D!