Solitude and procrastination – two of my favourite words. And another potential name for my lottery win book slash cake emporium, a girl’s gotta be prepared. Can you imagine how freaking awesome that place would be? Filled floor to ceiling with the best books and full of nooks and crannies to melt away into with your favourite, far from The Chatters. With cake. And clearly dog friendly.
I need me a lottery win, stat. I digress.
Until then I’ll just seek out solitude and continue my journey to procrastination level: pro all by myself.
I had a couple of days holiday last week for some last minute revision. Having cleaned behind the bog and made a very slow roasted vegetables-that-require-frequent-turning soup (seriously, procrastination master) I was stumped. But the sky was blue and the air fresh so my constant fur faced companions and I hopped in the car and headed to Dartmoor.
I bloody love Dartmoor. I love it when it’s misty and windy and Wuthering Heights-y. I love it when it snows. And I especially love Dartmoor when it’s the middle of the week in January and the sun is shining making the whole place look like it’s been VSCO Cammed up to the eyeballs and there’s not a soul around. Except those few who got in my shot down there. And they were chatty. Can you picture my face? CAN YOU?
We stomped and fell over and charged about like loons. We practiced out Blue Steel and rolled in shit.
As always I was reminded why I love this little life of mine way down in the darkest recesses of Devon. There was never solitude like that in London. I’m sure there are little pockets of quiet here and there and there are certainly corners of some of the parks away from the prying eyes of other humans but nothing like this. And it’s just good for the blackened introverted soul to get away from the world for a bit isn’t it? To recharge and get ready to face folk again.
What do you do to recharge? Or to procrastinate? My tank is empty.