Normal is good. It’s an unacknowledged blessing really. An analogy comes to mind: ‘After the Lord Mayor’s Show comes the dustcart.’ The Show is held only once a year, in the City of London – which would be in a sorry state without its dustcarts all the year round.
I say this because Mrs Llew and I have had several days of festival celebrations (see preceding posts here). And now we’re getting back to normal. Today it’s Waitrose. Parking’s a bit difficult; the tall lime tree by the entrance has nearly lost all its leaves; the former alehouse, now a dwelling, with its tall chimneys and low roofs, taunts my desire to explore it, with its memories of farming clientele over the centuries. Shall we cross the road, go to the post office, visit the ATM? Well we don’t need to do any of those things. Let’s go home and watch ‘The Daily Politics’ on TV.
We’re into the 51st year of being ‘normal’. For most of those years we didn’t stop to think about what that was – or meant. Too busy ‘getting and spending’ as Wordsworth put it. But now ‘normal’ is something to appreciate and relish, because we have the (present) time to enjoy it.
Oh, and we’ve had our ‘flu jabs.