'New experiences are important. It's part of why I love reading so. Someone else's imagination conjures up a story or an alternative world and presents it to me in a way that can change my perspective completely on what I thought life should look like. AM frequently catches me daydreaming, off in my own world where things are different to the reality which surrounds us. Often I wonder how much we should accept as real or true. We're not religious types, don't pray to a God of any description, base our beliefs and understanding within the confines of logic and science. Sometimes I look at my surroundings and our current situation and consider how many people on the same planet must be living in a totally opposite fashion. Not just those who sleep while we enjoy daylight, or toil while we enjoy our bizarre perpetual holiday. Regularly I am struck by the sad and inescapable knowledge that somewhere in the world, at the exact same second as I am admiring the cloudless sky, someone is dying, crying, being made to suffer, feeling alone. Who are they? Did they suspect their lives would turn out as they have? How much do they wish things were different? What belies sadness to me may be nothing compared to their experiences. When they feel elation would my understanding of elation correlate with theirs?
When I was younger I thought being a writer was such a romantic occupation. But I felt as if I needed to wait for life to mess me around a bit before I had any subject matter upon which to base my musings. I had an easy childhood, safe from tragedy and hardship. Nothing I endured was worthy of prose. It's perhaps not so different from now. Healthy, happy and carefree, we are sailing through this period of our lives with such an easy calm that it almost feels wrong, that we should in some way feel guilty about our luck. Bathed in sunshine on the edge of Lac d'Aiguebelette, AM engrossed in a Julian Barnes novel next to me (quiet and still for a change) everything just feels totally secure. If this is what we were looking for from a sabbatical, I think we've found it. Proof, if it were needed, that life away from London and its distractions can be equally, if not more, satisfying.
I am waxing lyrical about nothing in particular and I'm not sure I'm coming to a point. I don't think I care.'
Clearly, The Verve have been wrong all along and the drugs do work. I'm saving the rest of the Tramadol for future bouts of writer's block.