And this is where it starts.
Away from the Body Shop and Country Companion journals which are locked in the shoeboxes of my past. I'm returning to writing: emptying my thoughts out onto a big old white page. Kind of daunting really.
It feels good. I'm not completely comfortable having my words (none of which are of remote interest to anybody else) out there in the public realm. So what. It's a place where I can dump my worries, stick up my pictures and try and catch one or two memories from disappearing into the ever-lengthening past.
Anyway, enough of the reasoning...
It's the eve of a big birthday. My thirtieth year. My fourth decade. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? I still look fourteen. And feel it pretty often too.
Nevertheless, I'm looking forward to celebrating with a room full of friends and for the suprises my husband has in store for tomorrow.
Being thirty will be pretty good I reckon. One thing I've been realising as adulthood as snuck up on us recently, is that I'm ready to grow up. Side by side with my Jonny and whatever else will come.
I'm excited about that.
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