My Week in ... Touch


 Has a week gone by already? Since starting the My Week in... series, I find that the 7 days absolutely fly by and, if I'm not careful (and I'm often not), a couple of weeks will have disappeared behind me and I haven't posted anything. 

And yes, I do wonder why I post anything on here at all. I'm a sporadic diary keeper and a life-long writer of nonsense that rarely sees the light of day. This way, I get to write and keep track of my life, focusing on the tiny pleasures that punctuate the days but can so often be overlooked by bigger, more complicated stuff. 

Speaking of tiny pleasures, here are the past 7 days through the medium of touch.

Thorns scratching as the brambles on the plot desperately resisted my attempts to hack them out, or at least back under control. I won.

Satisfyingly tactile, soft but substantial stripy socks keeping my feet warm in wellies. 

The gentle roughness of bark as I bring some logs home for another bug house. 

The cold of the keys to the museum in my hand as I go back in for the first time since Lockdown #2 to check on the building. 

Mabel's little head butting mine as she establishes her rightful place in my morning. 

The shivery furriness of a leaf from one of the houseplants, brought back to life after I realised it wasn't thriving where it was and moved it. 

Slippery, almost silky fabric of the new-old skirt I've been wearing this week. 

The weight and flow of the fountain pen used to write a letter to a friend. 


Mabel. Familiar, hot water bottle, tiny tyrant. 

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