This might sometimes be about quilting

They also serve…….

As I get older – and older – the more often that line from Milton comes to me “They also serve who only stand and wait”.

I have never been a go-getter, a leader, an innovator or an adventurer. There were times when I liked to think I was, but no, in my essence, I’m not. I am one who stands and waits. Yet I have so often been thrust into things kicking and screaming and begging to be left alone.

This is my honest feeling about embarking on this Post Grad course. The most difficult part for me is the practical bit. I am pathologically afraid of being observed and judged. I have confronted this fear many times and it is still something I try to avoid at all costs. Far from feeling pumped up and buzzing when I’ve done it, my overwhelming feeling is one of indescribable relief that it is over and I vow never to do it again. But again and again I have been cajoled into doing it and the weeks and months leading up to it are nothing short of mental torture. Why do I do this? I will happily do research and write up essays and reports in my own time and alone at my desk. But oh dear, how am I going to get the practical component done? I already wake at night panicking about it and wondering if I should cancel the whole thing.


Chose yesterday to start my blog as I seemed to be hyper aware and appreciative yesterday. You know how you have these little scenarios in your mind about how things could be and might be if only they were? Well yesterday was just such a day.  The weather was perfect – England in the summer on a sunny day is matchless. Driving down to Oxford, the green, the blue, the gold, the warm just lifted me to a level of consciousness that made it all acute and real and in three dimensions that are rarely actually perceived. I sat in Blackwells with a coffee. I was on a leather sofa, sun at my back and the window open. The sounds of  Saturday Oxford drifted up and in. I had Shakepeare’s Sonnets on my lap and the world was truly mine.  Every breath drew the dream in and it reached into the very deepest part of me and the smile was unconscious and complete. Shakespeare, Plath, Branagh in my bag – promises of hours of quiet indulgence. A short drive to Iffley – the dream continued. A cottage in Iffley – a dream a dream. Cider by the river. The world flowing past: young people drunk and rich in love and hope, children engaging and pure. Dinner on the river –

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