A wedding last week, the sister-in-law's 40th birthday celebration in Dublin tomorrow. In between: chores, errands, dog walks, youtube yoga sessions, emails from clients and engineers and solicitors, meals to plan, hours behind the bar. Today we were visited by the Guinness line cleaner, an electrician, the ice machine repairman, and the guy who sorts out the TV and wifi.

What's privacy these days? I can't remember. Taking the dog out for a piss, I encounter a punter smoking outside the kitchen, and we chat, awkwardly (hello, I have no news and pandemic's got my tongue, please talk to me in two years). Privacy maybe while reading a book: attention to a sentence, a sensation, a feeling, however conditional on not being interrupted. Only I can think the way I think when I experience this book. Sometimes a memory is evoked, something completely mine, my own realm, to roam and feel free in.





<<