I did not go to therapy this morning, instead I stayed at home and did my chores. The faster I can complete everything here the sooner I can get back to London and deal with this problem.

I am in a sparklingly good mood.  I tell you, being single, not having to worry about Jake and being here on the temperate mountainside is just perfect for lifting the spirits.   I don’t want this to sound embittered but I feel like I have woken up after a very bad dream.  As if for the past eight months I have been watching myself act out the charade of being in love.  Deluded old fool.

Just finished reading an advance copy of Tony Blair’s riveting memoir.  A JOURNEY.  The age explained.  I voted for him and was pleased to see him elected.  I was upset when Will Self told me that he hated him.  I was saddened when his occasional speech writer Stephen Fry told me that Blair would go to his grave with the word Iraq engraved on his heart.  Like Mary Tudor had Calais engraved on hers. (“When I am dead, you will find Calais lying on my heart“)  Yet, I am afraid, they were both quite right.

What did I like about the book?  As a recovering alcoholic I loved that he admitted that he drank too much..that was rather inspiring.  Is he an alcoholic?  Perhaps.  Drank on his feelings.  Reading the British press I am a little confused, as I think they may be.  Why should this book be such a revelation to most British political commentators?  Most seem to think that the moment you become a leader you stop being a man.  That all human vagaries should be set aside.  How naive.  They wonder at his childish spats with Brown, that Blair admits to self-doubt, frailties, manipulation and the like.   They marvel at how frank he is.

They seem embarrassed and caught off guard.  However poorly I may now think of him, however he will be judged by time and further revelations..I was impressed by his book..how very candid and relaxed he seems.  Although I am sure he will be further reviled and doubted by most for this entertaining memoir, I rather enjoyed it.

There is, as my granny would say, no peace for the wicked.

I must remind myself of that sometimes.

I forgot to mention just how wonderful the last renters were.  A sweet couple and their gorgeous dog.  Vegan, into meditation and rebooked immediately for next year.

I am slowly moving back into the house.  Brought a bunch of things with me from Hollywood yesterday.  I am enjoying ironing the linen and folding it neatly and making piles of sweet-smelling pillowcases.   Putting everything away.  Lovely.

Simple pleasures.

Not much to report other than a very funny story I heard from my six-year-old and very beautiful god-daughter Lily.  She loves acting and singing and three times a year performs as part of a local theatre group. At the end of this summers performance she told me that an old lady in a fur coat came up to her and told her how wonderful her voice was, that she had seen her in the last play and how delightful she was.  Her parents giggled, the old lady in the fur coat was Barbra Streisand.  That’s Malibu life for you.  Just a little community of regular beach dwelling folk who are, for the most part…billionaires.

Had dinner with Eric at Sauce in Venice.  I love that little restaurant.  The waiter had huge hair and a cheeky smile.  I ate pulled pork.  Delicious.

I am going to get dressed and walk to the new road.