I am happy that a friend has planted mint underneath her garden tap in the middle of California.
I love chatting on Skype with my cousin; we are serious and silly in perfect proportions.
I can review my VAT records without grunting or swearing.
My first Saturday afternoon sleep in ages felt decadent and indulgent; in reality, I simply thought about nothing at all, passed out for a couple of hours, and woke up refreshed.
I am starting to get excited about going to a national translation conference in Porto in two weeks’ time. I have not kept track, but I have several pre-arranged cups of coffee to have with individual fellow translators when I am there.
I love the smell of calamine lotion, now soothing my many mosquito bites. I have never had so many all at once in my life. No, not even in Africa.
I like being 50. My inner chicken jumps around in delight often. My outer shell, sprouting grey hairs at the temples, explains my total lack of inhibition when I ask the local supermarket to start ordering my favourite brand of coffee again, because all the decaffeinated product on the shelf is no good for my health. The girl laughs. Yeah. She’ll remember.