I was all set to blog yesterday, something along the lines of how we'd had a busy week but we were looking forward to getting back into our normal routine for the rest of January: OH to work and me to study. I was going to say that I had designated January as Norman MacCaig month and how I thought I was actually going to enjoy reading his stuff much more than I had anticipated and how interesting it was looking at him in comparison with 'my' poet, because although they were almost exact contemporaries and they both wrote a lot about nature, amongst other things, they're very different in other ways.
And then we had a telephone call with some very upsetting family news and spent most of the day in deep shock. Sort of taking it in today, but we're both still quite restless and finding it difficult to concentrate.
I know from previous experience that even with bad news eventually you do recover a sort of equilibrium and find it possible to reclaim normal life on a day to day basis, but I have to say the prospect of the next few months is not a very pleasant one. Although I have no intention of recording the bad bits here. This blog was never designed for emotional outpourings, except for humorous indignation at books and TV and actors who cause ankle breaks, so you don't need to worry that if you drop by again, you'll find yourself drowning in misery. In fact if I can get myself into gear, there should be some late pictures of Christmas trees up here in the next couple of days.
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