I am a great believer in messages...from Outer Space, footprints in the sand, wherever I least expect.
By strange coincidence...or not...I got on my bike again today. The first real ride since my spectacular panic attack on the beach wall in April. A sapphire sea and Mr Parkinson (as I call him) shaking and trembling towards me. Allow me to translate roughly.
"Crikey, it's you."
"Yes, " I reply. "Beautiful day." (Please don't mention the panic attack).
"I thought you'd died."
"You looked dead. Layed out like that on the wall."
"No, no...just a drop in blood pressure."
"Well, I thought maybe you had died or been taken back to your own country?"
"No, I'm fine, honestly."
At which point an equally elderly collegue shuffles up to stare.
"This is the one I thought had died," Mr Parkinson says.
"What? She's dead?"
"No, I thought she was but she isn't."
"That's right, she's not."
"Well, it's lovely to see you." I say. "I'll be off now."
"You're still very guapa, " says Mr Parkinson. "And my hands are still very shaky. It's a buggar. Have a good ride."
"Thank you," I say but smirking with delight that he thinks I'm guapa. Got to take any compliment going these days.
Anyway, the reason I had gone down to the beach was to finish writing a song about Captain MacKenzie which I didn't because I was too busy repeating brain cloud mantras to prevent panic attack possibilities, and then when I open up the Spottydog blog today I find a message...
about shoes...and songs.
And here's a small person who is going to be very big.