I spoke to a friend in Madeira yesterday. We hadn't caught up in months, and she'd had an uppey-downey year. I asked a favour: if she'd phone the removal company who has had a year to ship (or not) my stuff from the island to Ireland, and has now cut off all contact with me. I figured we'd reached the stage for a frank conversation in rapid-fire Portuguese.
Under normal circumstances, my friend adores - just adores - taking a complaint to a service provider and getting it sorted. And despite being at a low ebb, she was interested.
We spoke later, and oh the brimming enthusiasm as she gleefully recounted her tactics and threats, a familiar strength and confidence in her voice. She was back on her game, no longer struggling on but forging ahead.
Funny, the way we sometimes get stuck in a rut, and lose touch with some aspect of ourselves, until something happens and suddenly it's there, clear as day, in all its technicolor glory.
So, even if my belongings are trapped in some Raiders of the Lost Ark-esque warehouse, never to see the light again, their predicament has given one lady cause to smile :-)
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