Quick! Quick! Get off the island!

I want you to relax. I want you to lie down in a comfortable position, in a warm and safe place. Now imagine you are on a boat, and the boat is pulling up to an exotic cove.

Smell the island flowers. Listen to the waterfall and imagine the sound of the water trickling down the cliffs in this cool, beautiful cove.

Take your time to enjoy this wonderful place. Well, you know, I don't mind if I do, thanks, University of Texas relaxation woman but what do you know, you give me one second - oh, two if I'm really generous. But then you're bundling me back into the damn boat and telling me it's time to go!

What's that about? I haven't even got a foot onto the sand yet, surely I get chance to feel the warm sand on my toes and the breeze on my face? For all you know I might have packed a picnic.

It's no good telling me I can come back anytime. It's too late. The damage is done now.

So the search for the perfect relaxation mp3 continues. I am now so used to my National Health Service issue one that I can't stop shaking with laughter every time she tells me seriously: "It's very important that you do not listen to this CD when driving or operating machinery." She puts on a special school-marm voice with a steely tone to it when she says that bit. Who on earth listens to a relaxation tape when operating machinery? Do you think those blokes operating pneumatic drills have a relaxation tape playing under their safety headphones?

A big book, a big walk

Wow. I walked round the block twice this weekend. And I went out to a fabric shop with Friend M, who came to pick me up in the manner of a volunteer worker taking an elderly lady out for a ride. I stood up for a good 10 minutes (though I was holding on to a roll of fabric for dear life - I am getting very adept at leaning on things nonchalantly to stop myself falling over) - see how I throb with health and energy!

I spent this weekend reading Carol Birch, Scapegallows. What a read! Based on a true story, it follows the life of Margaret Catchpole, and how her life is defined by the presence and lengthy absences of the smuggler Will Laud. Her charm, intelligence and hard working character constantly finds her favour, which her obsession with sailors and Will in particular constantly take away.

The book starts as she faces death for the third time as the flood waters rise in Australia, where she was sent as a convict, and she looks back over her life. This is a real page-turner, and though I've never at all much been drawn to historical fiction, I found it fascinating.

The writing was beautiful, the descriptions, particularly of night, were so evocative and hypnotic, that the only problem I found when reading the book was trying not to whizz through it so fast that I missed the language. It seemed like such a big book (I have it in hardback) that I was amazed to have finished it so quickly, which I put firmly down to impatience on my part.

The only niggle I have with it is that the front flap gave you the whole plot - not so good. But the character was both flawed and sympathetic. The perfect bridge between the ratty 'bad' literature I was reading when I was very ill, to get me back to the good stuff - stuffed full of plot, big bags of language, truckloads of adventure and beauty, just a very, very Big Book.

Gifts! Gifts!

It has been a sad week this week as I have not been able to go to any of litfest. I love litfest so much and being stuck in bed while it all goes on is miserable. However yesterday Mr Coffee came back with gifts! Oooh! A copy of Scapegallows by Carol Birch and Burma Boy by Biyi Bandele. I may even get up to attempt to read them. (WOW)

I have spent a good deal of time online this week trying to download free relaxation mp3s. I have a great relaxation tape that was done by Morecambe Bay Health Authority but after dozens of listens I know what the woman is going to say next, which is not too relaxing.

But good grief there are some unrelaxing relaxation 'practitioners' out there. The bloke who rattled through a visualisation at 100mph, after calling me 'pilgrim' (well I didn't really listen for long after being referred to like this); the other bloke who just drivelled on about positivity but never actually said anything, and some rather shocking twiddly music.

Dumbing down? It's only going to end in tears

Well I've learned my lesson now.

All this quality literature was hurting my head, I was too tired and too ill. So on a brief and rare trip down the road with the Littlest Latte to feed the ducks (amazing just how big a deal this has become to someone who was forever taking her kids out) I picked up some chick-lit from the box of 20p books outside the local florist - Anyone Out There by Marian Keyes.

It will Cheer Me Up, I thought. People like this. They read it to escape and boy, could I do with that.

If you want to read it and haven't then stop here now. I am going to ruin it for you. Because the bloke dies! He bleeding well dies! As if I'm not miserable enough already watching my life go past from my sickbed and the first bit of chicklit I ever buy in my entire life concerns a woman being widowed, for crying out loud! I thought the stuff was supposed to be people falling in love in exotic locations and drinking cocktails in nice dresses. This was not what it said on the tin.

So it's back to the good stuff for me. However much it hurts.

My new thing for today is - crying

Just sitting in bed with a book, crying.

Big weepy tears, the ones that slide satisfactorily down your cheek. No mincey snivelling or welling up. This is the Real Deal. I have snivelled while the youngest Little Latte unpacked and packed the craft box. And she has held her little arms out to cuddle me. Which made it worse. I cried while the whole Coffee family (bar me) snuggled together on the sofa watching a film. I cried while reading.

Funny but yesterday, when the eldest Little Latte was having her birthday party, and I spent the time sitting on the floor in the church hall kitchen while Mr Coffee, my mother, and my two friends ran the whole thing, I didn't cry. I just sat on the floor next to the bin and thought "Everyone is having such a good time, how lovely for them".

Then Mr Coffee and the eldest Little Latte set off to watch the fireworks, and I thought that I could maybe see one or two out of the window. And as soon as the first firework popped up over the cover of the houses opposite, the tears started doing their slidy thing, and it was ridiculous and just better to be in bed.

On the upside I am wearing my comfy new Next lounging trousers that Friend L got from town for me on Friday. Friend L understands being ill as she has done it herself quite spectacularly so she got them for me and it was so kind, that well... I could cry.

In fact I think I will.