Keep being you

“That’s meant for kids.” Mallory eyes my new furry backpack with disbelief.

We’re milling around in the church coffee area. Our tummies are full of strong tea and frosted anniversary cake and we’re all a little reluctant to head home.

I swing Love-a-Lot onto my shoulder: “This is my ‘I got the job' gift to myself - nothing says ‘capable shop manager’ like a pink Care Bear.”

Barbara reaches an arm around my waist and squeezes gently: “Keep being you, Suse.”

*
When I worked in publishing I strode around London in cute skirt suits and knee boots. I jumped on and off and tube trains and danced in clubs until the early hours.

These days, I move rather more slowly.

The op on my foot didn’t do what it might have done, and to avoid pain, I now meander along with a gentle swagger. There’s a nice Manx phrase meaning, ‘time enough’ and it seems my life has become by necessity, ‘traa dy liooar’: slow, steady and simple.

Unless I’m on my bike, that is. Then I soar along the prom in the company of shrieking seagulls and yappy dogs, the wind whipping my hair and salt water stinging my cheeks.

My new toy is retro mint green with a white plastic basket that is crying out for the addition of giant daisies: the prettiest mobility aid you’ve ever seen.

*
I really should be single. Then I could start some sort of ‘will they, won’t they’-friendship with the guy from the bookshop. If the guy from the bookshop wasn’t eighty, that is.

My life has taken such a gloriously small-town turn that it needs a pastel cover featuring watercolour illustrations of bunting and cupcakes.

As I rode through town yesterday, my hairdresser waved as I passed her salon. I unlocked the shop and was just putting out the doggie water bowl when the dressmaker from next door came in, brandishing a danish pastry for each of us.

Later on, I helped a chap find the perfect Abba party outfit. We debated whether he needed a sequinned vest under his swirly orange jacket or whether 'bare chest and medallion’ was the way to go. The jury was out, but the purple platform boots were a must.

*
The trickiest part of the ministry life is not knowing what’s coming next, but I guess that’s true for all of us. You hold the rain-heavy clouds and sparkling green seas with open, grateful hands.

So whether it’s forever or just a right-now gift, I’ll be over here, tucked away in my paperback world of granny-hugs, orthopaedic shoes and second-hand drama. Come to me for all the local skeet (gossip) but you’ll need the newsagent for anything real.

Life is slow, steady and simple and that suits me every bit as perfectly as a fluffy novelty backpack designed for a ten year-old: keep being you, Suse.