Of balance...

There I go, channelling my inner Bacon in that title. It could have been worse - I'm resisting temptation in the form of Barking Mad or Barking up the wrong tree. But my photo, of the mossy bark of a tree outside Benmore Gardens this afternoon, is there solely because I thought it was remarkably beautiful and different, and signifies only itself.

As I mentioned yesterday, our Pilates class returned to the studio today. Our teacher has been wonderful, keeping up her lessons from her sitting room, cheerfully exhorting us despite not being able to see us, moving her furniture to have room to set up her camera and do all she was teaching us to do. But it's a big thing to go back into class together, and I wondered how it would feel. The first impression was of the cool air in the low-ceilinged studio - quite a sizeable space apart from the ceiling - as the windows were wide open. (We'd been warned about this; as it was, I had to remove my top layer after about 15 minutes of stretching and bending). We were carefully spaced out, with clearly more than two metres between us in any direction, and we had all brought our own mats (I used to borrow one of the class mats). I felt there was much less banter than before, however - everyone seemed quite subdued, and apart from quiet asides with the two people nearest me, both of whom I know well, there was little conversation. Perhaps we all felt the sense of not wanting to exhale too vigorously - there were none of the theatrical puffings that used to accompany the more vigorous exercises. I'd been right about one thing, though - my balance was all over the place, after months of rock-steady standing on one foot in my study, and I was aware of other people wobbling and putting down sudden feet. I'm sure it's the change of surroundings; I did slightly better when I put my water bottle on the smooth grey floor in front of me, to have something on which to fix my eyes. 

Apart from the class itself, I went home in the car of a friend. We both wore masks, as if she was a taxi driver; she's about 12 years younger than me and still goes into school (we were colleagues) once a week. It's funny how some things remind me of my age: I don't like it!

Despite our both feeling tired (Mr PB is still in The Cupboard) we went out for a walk in what might be described as Scots Mist - that fine rain that doesn't feel much at the time but leaves you quite wet after a while. Benmore Gardens were completely empty of people by the time we were there, and as lovely as ever, with the leaves of some trees already luminously autumnal and the rowan berries like jewels in the mist.

I have hopes of getting to bed not too long after midnight: last night was one of those times when I kept being awake, not feeling ill, but irritable and uncomfortable, and I felt I'd had very little decent sleep all night. I blame a relatively late dinner of Fegato alla Veneziana last evening - utterly delicious, but probably enough to have me climb a mountain instead of going to bed.

Should I have made that title Off Balance instead?