So I had a lovely weekend, in spite of choosing to wear a linen blouse and skirt to make a 3 hour drive to Kent on the hottest day of the year so far: can we say, 'pointless' ?
Because although it kept me somewhat cooler than I might otherwise have been, one can only wear linen if one never sits down; and certainly not in a hot car for 3 hours or so; unless - of course - one is aspiring to achieve that whole 'alcoholic consul in an equatorial banana republic' look that Denholm Elliot did so well.
Unfortunately, it may have been worse than that - I feel I may have looked as damply disshevelled as Kathleen Turner:
However, the warm welcome and family birthday barbeque made it all worthwhile. No, it has nothing to do with the fact that we also left the kids behind for a week with Nanny for their annual visit, I promise. Conversation did not flag on the journey home, as DH I and had a lively exchange of views discussing the influence of existentialism on Art.
Yes, you're correct - that last bit was absolutely a total lie; I can't actually remember what we talked about, but it was interesting and we had lots of fun and laughter.
Sunday was spent lounging around doing nothing that I can talk about publicly, apart from a quick trip to buy French bread, wine, olives and pate, as an additional reminder of what our lives were like B.K (Before Kids).
Today DH is at work, and as - unusually - I have no project in mind for the eye of the typhoon that is our house when the kids aren't in it, I have spent today eating cherries and reading rubbishy books that have few if any redeeming features - I had no idea that the supernatural/paranormal sector of fantasy fiction had it's own sub-genre of murder/mystery/sex/romance where lycanthropy can meld almost seamlessly with daywalking vampires, graphic S&M, genetic manipulation and conspiracy theories. My mind has been quite well and truly boggled, let me tell you..
Obviously, I have not smoked enough of the right stuff, or else I would have come up with this vapid incarnation of porn, and be sitting on a beach in Barbados right now counting my money. And no, I am not talking about 50 Shades of Grey which at least has the excuse of being very poorly written fan-fiction.
Anyway, enough of the bitter envy mixed with mocking derision; having shared the cherries with the dog, I must now fall back to red seedless grapes. But - alas ! I have no-one to peel them for me.