Not so roving

Have just been sitting in my car, debating whether to drive out to band practise or not. Pointless turning up so late really (half eleven now) but I hate missing it – hate being left out, and like the therapeutic side of singing and making music. Plus the social side of hanging out with the Pondies. But my body said 'No'. That's twice now in recent weeks that I've actually listened to my self – been aware of the fatigue, brain and muscle ache, the call for sleep...must be getting old. Ordinarily I'd completely disregard any reluctance or protest and just soldier on; force myself through the exhaustion and pain barrier. Totally nuts. But have ground to such a halt tonight I can barely type. Eyelids drooping; fingers uncoordinating; upper body wilting forward – dreaming of bed but all I can hear is the football commentary down below, as Eddie gets his manly dose. Really he should be getting an early night as he's got another A-level exam tomorrow; and if he went to bed now, then I could.

But no, I must blog instead. Write about my uninteresting day which involved a laundry blitz first thing, before heading to the office. Decided on Trereife in the end as couldn't face the driving, or the loss of time travelling. According to the Gardens in Cornwall website it's open all year round, but not until 11am, so I decided to blat out the review on Mike Sagar-Fenton's Serpentine book to plug the gap. Trickier than you'd think, and more time-consuming too.

Cycled up to Trereife then lunchtime-ish, nobly resisting the pasty lure as I rode through town. Sailed straight past the entrance as it wasn't open after all. Considered whether to go home and swap over to the car, and jaunt up the line to an alternative garden, but eventually decided to go up to the house anyway to ask the state of play. Tim Le Grice, the current owner was out doing something with horses with a couple of people when I arrived. Before I'd even played the 'intrepid reporter' card he said I was welcome to wander through the gardens free of charge (which I thought jolly decent of him). He also apologised for not being able to give me a guided tour as he was busy at the time – a practising solicitor, he had a client to see at the time.

Went for a wee wander with pen and notepad in hand, not really sure what it was I should be writing. Tried to take some photos but the battery was flat. Sheepishly went round to Mr Le Grice's office to ask if I could plug it in to recharge for ½ an hour, which he agreed to, the room with the plug being this ancient/fusty old office/library. (Took a photo later of the bookshelves – wish I'd had the guts to ask my host if he'd pose for the camera too – would've been quite a coup. But I didn't, so opportunity lost there).

Enjoyed the peace of strolling round the grounds, but can't say that it's all that exciting a garden; not exactly up there with the greats – but nice none-the-less. Was soon zooming back to the office, where I made a start on writing the feature, but before I knew it, it was after five, and a dash home via the co-op was next on the agenda.

Whipped up a curry, had ten minutes watching the news, then off out again to the Acorn. Got to watch the second half of the play for the scene that Rosie was in (she was a lodger in Steve Berkoff's adaptation of Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis). I thought the play sucked, which was a pity, because the actors were good. Would rather see something entertaining, not post-modernist weird. Incredibly proud of her in a mother-kind-of-a-way. Not exactly sure what Billy and Lucy made of it!

Forgot that it was rehearsal night though, and lingered chatting to Beth after. Hence the failure to make it tonight. Oh well, not the end of the world. At least I had a chance to do this relatively early, and seeing as there's a massive pile of dishes in the sink still needs doing (bloody useless kids), probably for the best. Am tired. Very.