Damn it’s easy to let things slip away, especially if you’re living in interesting times. Due to mix of personal and worldwide issues over the last few years I seem to have let doing stuff slide, or at least doing stuff I enjoyed slide. That whole divorce, raising kids with ‘requirements’, covid lockdowns, sudden death of my father, and a grab bag of health issues has really put the hand break on enjoying life vs just LIVING.

No more aimless drives in the countryside because there is farm stuff to be done. No more weekends away because money needs to be spent wisely. No more time with friends because I no longer have a personality I only have a long list of stuff I need to do to talk about. No cafes, no bars, no dates, no life.

When the dust settled after my father died I was almost sure I was going to sell the farm because I didn’t want fixing it to consume the rest of my life. But to sell it I at least needed to clear the decades of neglect and clutter and job that was far larger than I expected. I would like to say that during that clearing period I came to love and want to stay, but it is closer to the truth to say that the world went nuts, housing went crazy, and people turned on each other. So turning the farm into a peaceful retreat with trees and no bills suddenly became very attractive.

So I have poured 1000s of hours and a couple of vertebrae into a blank and mostly structurally sound canvas. I have now lived with the place long enough to know where things need to be, and I have gained the skills required to put those things in those places. So even with foot dragging and my inability to ask for help I will be living in a half finished cabin by July, and a completely finished modernist box by Christmas.

Then comes the tricky bit, going and living my life again and not spending my days hiding away in the woods till someone hasn’t heard from me for a few weeks and decides to check and finds me dead in a fashionable but now haunted midcentury chair.