I am happy to say that the brain scan for the OH concluded that he was having a migraine and nothing worse showed up.  I think he has got off lightly and I think it was a warning and have said so.

And now I can turn my attention to where it should have been exclusively for the last two days and get on with dressing twenty-fourth scale dolls, which is a thing I really enjoy.  Well, I do but still have to take a run up to it.  I find that, as with most creative undertakings, you need to be doing it for a while until you get into the zone and the ideas start arriving.  Warming up is not just for sports people.

Did Michelangelo do a few ceilings in anaglypta and a couple of coats of magnolia first?  Did Barbara Hepworth round off a few rocks before she thought of putting a hole in them?  Did Franz Hals do a few grumpy cavaliers in a greyish vest before he told the model a joke and got him to pop a frilly coat on?

We may never know but I’ll tell you for posterity (if it has any interest at all, which I doubt) that I take a couple of OK dolls to rev up to much better and a few uninterrupted days sewing before I get really creative and start dreaming of outfits and fabrics.

It’s just the way my brain works.  I still wake up with entire poems in my head, fifty eight years after that first started happening.  Brains are amazing.  You are your brain.  You need to keep it hydrated, give it the good food building blocks, and get plenty of sleep and exercise to get the blood and nutrients rushing through it.

You should love your brain and be kind to it, which does not include sitting in a chair gawping at TV while shovelling in sugar or alcohol by the hour, the day, the year or the life.  There was a children’s TV programme called Why Don’t You (just switch off your television and go and do something less boring instead?) which started in the seventies. This was as good an idea as the programme in the fifties called All Your Own, in which children demonstrated what they had learned to do with the TV off.  I always envied the violinists.  An old violin came into the house but I only had a little go before it was whisked away, traded up for a better antique.  It had some writing on it: Stradi something or other?

I still have a big block of stone in the garden awaiting a chisel.  Fortunately now I am ambidextrous, so if hitting the chisel in my right hand hurts the metal in the shoulder I can swap it to my left.  After the Min, with a following wind and some sunshine I will get busy.

Though I have had ideas for new dolls for the autumn and kits, all in twenty-fourth.

I could have been telling you that I was about to become a carer again; I think I’ve done enough of that. I think I’ve had a reprieve.


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