Empty Space

Sitting and staring at an empty screen for ages it crossed my mind that that should be what I should publish as it pretty well sums up how I’m feeling today. Empty.

Then it crossed my mind that you probably wouldn’t understand that and think I’d clicked ‘publish’ by mistake. It reminded me of Tracey Emin’s unmade bed.  I remember the furore when it was presented as a work of art.

An unmade bed? WTF? Here’s my dirty dishes, let’s call that art as well.

Without a bit of background knowledge it just makes no sense.

So here’s the background:  If I can get it down without crying  (apparently I can’t – it can’t be good for a keyboard to have tears seeping in to it. If this post stops half way through then I’ve blown up my computer by crying into it).

Last night we took a phone call to  say that our good friend and dance teacher of umpteen, I really can’t remember how many – at least fifteen, years is seriously ill and in intensive care. After his car crash last week from which he seemed to have walked away relatively unscathed, it would appear that complications set in. All we can do is hope and pray that he’s going to recover.

So, in the absence of our Thursday morning paso doble lesson, I grabbed Mrs Woofy and set off before 8 o’clock onto the still dark, cold, foggy and snowy moors for a walk to clear my head and shoot a few photos – always the best cure for melancholia. You probably won’t like them, they’re very gloomy – match my mood perfectly.

Get well soon, teacher.

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