I had a lovely day a couple of weeks ago.
Nothing complicated, just went off to visit a friend (who is also a client) in the wilds of Shropshire, on the Welsh border, and we had a lovely chin wag over lunch in her beautiful garden. No boys, no husbands, just us.
She lives in a large, old, red brick converted mill house in a small village. The rooms inside are large, quiet, and cool, the walls simply painted in muted colours. We had coffee in her bright kitchen which she’d recently given a makeover. The transformation achieved by a pot of cream cupboard paint was amazing - I thought they were new units!
She then took me on a tour of her lovely, old-fashioned garden. The many roses were in full bloom, and I had to stop and sniff each one as I passed. I admired the enormous pink peony, and then we were in the veggie garden. Her boys, such gentlemen, Harry, George and Peter, have their own raised beds where they each grow the vegetables they like to eat; George is a particularly keen gardener and his bed was neatly planted with sweetcorn and broccoli. Harry was concentrating on lettuce and potatoes, and Peter had a bit of everything. I again envied her large greenhouse where cucumbers were winding their way up the supports, and the tomatoes were so much further ahead than mine. We wandered through the baby orchard, past the spot where she’d like to have some chickens, and back to the house to prepare food.
We took lunch, freshly picked salad leaves and cold meats, out to a sheltered spot in the garden, and carried on chatting. There is a large Clematis Montana on the wall of her house, home to what seemed like 100s of sparrows, who swooped and twittered constantly. A pleasant light breeze took away the heat of the sun, as we compared notes on running our respective businesses, our plans for them, between stories of her boys’ latest adventures, and news of mutual acquaintances. We have similar family backgrounds, both having three sisters, and a similar outlook on values and life in general.
Sadly I had to leave before the boys got home from school, but it really was a lovely day, with a drive there and back through some lovely countryside where farmers were busy with the hay, so there was a delightful smell of hot cut grass. Bliss.
Why am I sharing this with you?
Simply because by choosing to play hookey from work for that one perfect day, I came back refreshed and raring to go. My day of truancy broke the exhausting “so much to do, so little time” cycle of trying to do everything, achieving little, and feeling rubbish as a result. Taking a break helps you to regain your focus and prioritise effectively instead of going round in ever-decreasing circles. Playing hookey gave me my mojo back!
