I love the intricacies of life. I am fascinated by the way aspects of my life are inter-related. I am intrigued by the way one captured moment while gardening can unlock a problem, release an idea, set free a story from a block of creativity. I love expression of ideas and thoughts, especially those that aren’t easily captured. I am unencumbered while writing, something I don’t feel when conversing. Blogging is an expression of the freedom I feel in writing. Writing allows me to edit my thoughts and convey them just so. There is no beginning or end, the words on the page say what they say whether complete or not.

I have come to realise I don’t have to have everything sussed in life to express myself. I am in my own story and so when I blog I am conveying part of that story. Like a puzzle we can concentrate on the section of the picture we are working on. However, sometimes we forget the picture is far bigger than the tiny corner we are trying to perfect. We can lock ourselves in and limit our horizons. And so with my blog I tend to have a variety of threads that weave around, almost like having a few films playing simultaneously. Julia thinks I’m mad having a few books on the go at the same time. I seem to have far more than that – with not only books to read but books to write all vying for attention as I ponder how they are going to progress. Add in new ideas for stories, writing short stories, poetry ideas, several national geographical crosswords on the go, 65 gardens, pondering our next life move, playing ‘poo head’ with family and getting confused with which card is which, my van…

Blogs for me are a mishmash of everything that’s happening – sometimes it’s a short story, sometimes an autobiographical piece from the past or the present, sometimes it’s just my thoughts on a matter. They are all my blog albeit seen from a different angle. I am amazed how often when you are writing a story an element of your day can fit exactly within the narrative and usually you haven’t even had that thought before. It came to you in the day ready to be incorporated into the page of script.

I suppose if I am honest the blog is my attempt at encapsulating my life, where I have come from and the places I have been, my dreams of where I am going so that the sum total of my being isn’t just this 16 stone, slightly balding shell because this body won’t last forever. However, what I am finding in the encapsulation there seems to be a sloughing off of past restrictions and chains and an opening up of greater vistas than I had imagined were there and were available to me to live in. I seem to be dragging myself out of my dark puzzling corner and realising I have a massive box of possibilities awaiting my attention.

My blog for the garden last year meant I had to write every day. It was a diary, it was a history, it was opening up broader ideas to make people think what a garden is, what aspects of science we were elaborating on, how an impossible task can be made possible, it was a journey, it was a dream, it was a story of two (and then 3 (and then more)) people who were as mad as a box of frogs.

What I’m trying to say is that a blog is not one thing. If it was it would seem very 2d and where’s the interest in something flat. No, my blog is a bit like one of John Humphries sculptures – it’s 3d but stretched or squashed in one plane so that when you look at it your mind is challenged to make sense of what you are seeing. And your mind adapts so that this new reality becomes what is real before your eyes. There’s an otherness behind the art or behind the script or behind the fiction. An otherness that expresses who I am today, or yesterday, or tomorrow.

The hard graft and tiredness of today is a small piece of my day. I am now sat with my atlas of endless possibilities and loving the fact I can be me even though at the moment it feels like my internal life feels a bit like the internal dimensions of my van. However, out of the chaos…

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