This week I have been blessed with forgetting.
Not my usual where-on-Earth-have-I-left-my-phone (oh, and the charger, and the canteen bill?), but the rare gift of has-there-really-ever-been-another-day-than-today oblivion.
In fact, get that: I managed to entirely forget the past year…
And nope, it did not involve half a gallon of rum and passing out with cocktail olives up my nose.
Which is impressive, because even by my standards, the last twelve months have been pretty hairy.
Say, if I were to produce a dodgy Xmas present calendar with pictures illustrating each month, there could be: Mr Nice and I crying over our separation and the death of my children’s pet Guinea pig (August 2014), Mr Nice changing his locks and turning into Mr Big Bastard From Hell (September 2014), me frowning over a job application (anytime beween July 2014 and February 2015), meetings at the bank attempting to fit a size 12 budget into a future size 6 income (November 2014), piles of unfinished work and a ticking clock (finishing my old job, Jan-Feb 2015), an idiot’s guide to international relations (starting new job just as Mr Xmas plunges into depression, March), a bottle of Sauternes and foie gras (to celebrate my promotion, April), an idiots’ guide to surviving hierarchy overload, stress at work and single parenthood (May to July), a blown gasket for Mr Xmas (June).
Although I have to admit that I wouldn’t know a gasket -let alone a blown gasket- from a garden gnome.
Anyway, this week, no shade of work, blown gaskets or big bastards. Nope.
Watched my son’s delighted fishing despite his refusal to touch anything on the hook (bait or fish).
Watched my daughter go down the water slide all by herself for the first time.
Cooked with only a microwave for three days (a challenge)
Counted the number of mosquito bites behind my right knee (8, a record)
Listened to my children fight over three hours of jammed traffic and torrential downpour between Narbonne and Montpellier. Fantasised about heavy-duty parcel tape, gags, and James Bondey-type cars where you press a button and a sound/bullet-proof glass partition buzzes up between the front and back seats.
Saw a lot of relatives and was stunned by how much their children have grown. A mystery of the universe (apart from the disappearance of anti-matter): How do I keep forgetting that other people’s children grow up too?
Watched Camarguese cowboys near Montpellier herd bulls through the streets at high speed (and yeah, I didn’t fancy getting too much closer as I took this shot). It’s a local festive tradition. So is drinking neat Pastis.
So there. It has been a busy, and lovely week to round off my Summer break. Tonight, I will be driving North one last time, and going back to work tomorrow. I haven’t started loading the car and think I may varnish my nails. Anyone mentionned denial?
Madilyn Bailey – Radioactive
A nice cover, which keeps playing on the radio this Summer, and my children like to sing along to when they’re not fighting.
Not sick of holiday snaps?