Today is a wet and miserable English Summer day, which serves as a good reminder of why I was so glad to be moving out to France two years ago, but isn’t enough to make up for the fact that I have to leave tomorrow. I’m not sure what happened but I blinked, and bang, it’s the end of our holiday: Tragedy!
This week felt like one of these heavy, metallic shutters had been pulled down on my life in France in the last 6 months, and everything had happened to someone else.
I felt slow, barely remembered what I had for breakfast (bacon, scrambled eggs and baked beans, mm…) and reckon at least 70% of my brain had been switched off to recover from recent overwork. Meanwhile, the rest of me split the time between sleeping, eating, and enjoying the company of friends and my children.
Alas, work gets in the way of life, and much as I would like to, I cannot remain holed up here for 6 months. In fact, the dread switch has been flicked on: I am going home tomorrow, and have already had a couple of nightmares involving seeing T, who seems to have been cast in the role of the Big Bad Wolf From My Childhood Dreams. Then comes the appeal of a life mostly revolving around struggling to keep my head out of the water, and wondering what to cook for dinner.
I very much feel like stamping my feet, rolling on the floor, screaming “I don’t wanna go baaaack”. At the very least, it would mystify my daughter, who recently started trying a bit of the Terrible Twos on for size.
Ready for a bit of irony?…
…Inna – The sun is up: