I regularly move my furniture and accessories around as is my won't. It makes me feel good, I've not spent any money and yet I've got a different view. I like changing the dynamics of a room, I like the space and flow of energy it creates and I enjoy breathing new life into a piece of furniture that hasn't been utilised effectively for a while.
With every move I share my antics with friends. They all laugh. They know me well.
But there's one person I can't talk to and yesterday when I really wanted to share a really stupid nugget about Prozac being the Latin word for Prosecco I crumbled. I had been putting on a brave face but the truth is I'm not feeling brave. I am missing my best ever friend. She would say "oh Nellski" and I would say something random in French, she would correct me, I'd repeat what I had said, we would laugh. Only the two way laughter has now gone and I feel like I've lost a piece of the furniture, a rare silk from life's rich tapestry.
My best ever friend, my ally, my confidant.