Log jam

The consensus among my girlfriends is that it is simply marvellous that I’m free, that I’m being true to myself, that I have taken my power back. On the other hand, if I don’t find another man soon I’m never going to get this sack of logs out of the footwell of the passenger side of my car. The gamekeeper at the farm where I keep my horses loaded them in there three weeks ago and I’ve been driving around with them ever since.

I don’t know what I was thinking. My head must have been stuck in ‘I have a boyfriend’ mode when I accepted them because it seemed a perfectly good idea at the time. It was a good idea all the way down the A3 until I pulled into my road, parked the car, got out, opened the passenger door, put my hands around the sides of the huge feed sack stuffed with timber and pulled.