Three of Cups.

No, not coffee. (But not *not* coffee.)

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No diary again because I haven’t written anything. I’ve been researching and reading and making connections and getting overexcited.

A while ago, someone on Twitter was doing tarot readings and mine was the 3 of Cups. I know next to nothing about tarot, but everything she said made me happy and also cry. I made a mental note to find out more about the 3 of Cups, made a playlist (inevitably), went on with my life.

I can’t remember why, but last week I was thinking about it again - maybe I read something on Substack about tarot for writers? Can’t remember. Anyway, I was idly pondering 3 of Cups and my book and the girl band I want Aunty Bea to have been a part of and how maybe Sam’s mum was also in the band… and, as I said in my post earlier this week, this photo popped into my head.

And then it was my birthday and my oldest friend - his dad and my dad were best friends - sent me this card.

Huh.

(My boys were with me when I opened it and asked why I was so excited about it. I explained and they said “That’s nothing.” No surprise since they don’t even believe in the magic of foxes¹.)

I was also being pummelled by All Fours by Miranda July and then I read this: