Tonight, I was going to write something profound about the ability to let someone new into your life post-heartbreak, but I got blown by a gust of desert wind, fell off my bike, cried and phoned my mum (who must be glad I will be turning 38 before this month is out).
Then I unwittingly set up a scientific experiment involving being an über mum who prepares a sausage and lentil stew after the kids have gone to bed, takes a bath and has the attention span of a moth.
The riveting conclusion of this experiment is that burnt lentils smell uncannily like cigarette smoke and could well become the construction material of the future thanks to their astonishing adhesive properties.
Anyway, we are back from holiday, and have resumed school, childminder’s and work. I have been cycling to work in what felt like a giant hair-dryer as a powerful 25°C Scirocco keeps blowing Saharan sand and dead leaves all over the French Alps, and my house now smells like a giant ashtray.
I am hopeful that in the next couple of days my bruises will not hurt so badly, I will not accidentally set fire to the local supermarket and you will be subjected to my profound thinking.
Meanwhile, what the funk?