Gentleman in England Now A-Bed

This seems like an appropriate heading for St Crispin's Day, although my post refers to yesterday, a feast day of nobody in particular. It was a day off: despite just having been on leave for a fortnight I do still jealously guard my times of recess, acutely aware as I have over the years become of how I absolutely need them. However they are sometimes unavoidably eroded, and so was yesterday's.

I had agreed to do a wedding, not at Swanvale Halt church, but at the grand chapel of a school not very far away. This is something which has happened a couple of times before but always makes me nervous: there is different paperwork to be done, the logistics of the service are not what they are in my humble church, and I feel much less at home. Yesterday was the rehearsal, that's all, yet I lay in bed very reluctant indeed to get up and face the day. It was far more congenial to spend time in that shadowy world on the boundaries of sleep and wakefulness not quite paying attention to the Today presenters quietly chuntering from the radio by my bedside, observing the strange and varied thoughts that crossed my mind, and putting off the moment when reality would begin. 

I often find that the anticipation of doing something is much more taxing than actually doing it, and in fact whereas I should get more confident as time goes on, I find my nervousness is growing rather than diminishing. I am less and less inclined to do anything out of the ordinary, which probably is not very healthy. At least I can recognise it. S.D. has encouraged me to keep a record of my passing moods and though I am very bad at doing it I manage it often enough to be able to observe how mobile and malleable they are. But knowing that my nameless dread is silly hasn't so far helped me stop it!