Being between jobs as I am, I have plenty of time to do such soul enriching things as read philosophy, take sun-drenched strolls and artistic photos whilst on these strolls or make homemade bread and Instagram it. Or at the very least come up with a really funny, insightful blog on the difference between Münsteranians and Weidenites. As it stands, I am up to date on an alarming amount of television shows, going through an alarming amount of wine and taking pictures of my daily coffee with SG’s smart phone because each day I froth the milk just that little more successfully, with my battery operated frother. And every coffee looks different in each member of my mug collection. Plus I have managed to do a seriously exceptional amount of navel gazing, sharing the products of each gaze with my poor, long suffering mother, who has, in turn, shared pearls of compassionate wisdom, via email, daily.

Today, though, things changed. Today I received a box from Australia and in it, among the excessive amount of Easter chocolate and my Snuggie (remember them?), was a book from my Mum, Examined Lives , From Socrates to Nietzsche by James Miller. Instantly I wanted to go on a sun-drenched stroll and read philosophy in a quiet park with a take away latte. I screwed the pooch on the coffee by consuming a bucket whilst Skyping with a friend (another past time of the between-jobbers) but the sun kept shining, the book was begging to have its spine lovingly cracked and SG was gently encouraging me to leave the house. So I did.

The first thing I did was walk into a bookshop and buy another book. The Marriage Plot by one of my favourite writers, Jeffrey Eugenides. Something about having a new book makes me want to give it a friend, or throw in extra nutrients for my (currently atrophying) brain. I almost bought two new books, but decided that was a bit extreme and I could reward myself for a good deed in the future, by purchasing Agent 6. 

Bursting out of the bookshop, veritably feeling the wonder of Jeffrey’s words seep into my very skin, I went in a different direction to the one I usually do, and sussed out another corner of town. Nearby a big church – everything is nearby a church in Bavaria – that looks rather like an ice cream cake, I found a small park and sat beneath the cherry blossoms. There, I lovingly cracked the spine of Miller. And it was glorious.

I even took some artistic photos.

Spring is still springing.

A little Disney-esque.