On the summer solstice I had the day off. Pen came to visit, to work her magic on some photos for my new website. Followed by a lovely lunch in one of my favourite little local spots. I volunteered to drive us back which necessitated a three (maybe four) point turn. In Pen’s Smart car. Yeah I rock. The afternoon was spent writing and catching up on some tele. And then a Skype date with Ms Doorways Traveler. It was a warm, muggy, grey day. Rex was highly dissatisfied with the temperature in every room in the house. He kept moving his belly along the wooden floor in the lounge looking for cold spots.

I spent much of the day thinking a lot about joy – the emotion not the person (somewhat ironically, the only Joy I know serves food in our staff canteen and she always has a face like a smacked arse). So anyway: joy. And how much I have of it in my life. And how it wasn’t until I let it in, that I realised it had been missing. And I had to let it in while I was on my own. I had to learn to feel joy in simple, everyday things, without reliance on an other. Joy is, I am convinced, the secret. To lasting love and friendship. To power. To emotional freedom. Joy feels satisfied, full, content. When joyous I want for nothing and I am never tempted to numb, hide, defer life.

We spent Saturday afternoon at the pub where we are having our wedding.  There was much wine involved (I managed to lock us out of our room. Lucky no one was naked). We slept in an enormous king-size with magical sleeping powers. In a room with a bath next to the bed. It was glorious. And Sunday afternoon we watched the mighty All Whites and yelled and whooped and prayed. I felt sick with excitement and pride.

It has been a joyous few days.

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