Today I have been spinning plates: trying to make jelly, get an important document off for work, finish off the cottage for visitors tomorrow, pick raspberries, make meringues, shave my legs, pack my bags for my holiday, check my bank balance, make sure I can make a lunch time meeting in the same week elder daughter is coming to visit.
While wiping the hot jars of redcurrant jelly and trying to talk on the phone I dropped a jar in all its glorious hot, wet stickiness all over the kitchen floor. Hot red jelly sliding all over the worn red lino, stickiness everywhere, jeans soaked, trainers slipping and sliding in stickiness. What seemed like hours of wiping and mopping and mopping again.
So the idea of a simpler life is a powerfully attractive one: no trains, no blackberry, no juggling; lying in every morning and taking breakfast outside in the silence and the sunshine, filling the bird feeders, picking our own vegetables and fruit. Is it a fantasy? A Chimera?
Perhaps life can be simpler but harder. Less money, less choice. But is less choice a bad thing?
On Sunday we are going on holiday for a week to a cottage in mid Wales. A week of sleeping and reading and walking. Can't wait.