For the first time, I can understand the appeal of downing tools and flitting off to rural France to escape the rat-race. We had the best holiday imaginable in Bordeaux.
Well, apart from the journey there, when Johnny barfed on the way through airport security. Like any good mother I stuck out my cupped hands and then had to dump the vom and copious wet wipes thrust at me from well prepared women into one of the trays you are meant to put the contents of your pockets in to go through the x-ray machine. Great start - things could only get better...
The French attitude to life suits a slow paced, restorative holiday perfectly. We did very little of any consequence and a lot of eating, drinking, splashing in the pool, building sandcastles on the beach and playing in the woods. I was too lazy to even take many photos. The children thrived on 100% adult attention, with no distractions of work, the computer or chores to divert us from playing.
It's not real life, but it was sooooo good while it lasted. My O-level French held up pretty well on the whole. I even managed a note to the tooth mouse. Did you know they have a mouse and not a fairy in France? Mark is now totally front toothless, but he couldn't whistle anyway, so is not too bothered by their absence.
Arriving back to the UK was a shock - there's been a lot of rain and some bad flooding. One of the roads out of our village is submerged, but thankfully the house is fine. Which is more than I can say for the vegetable patch.
Looking forward to catching up with what you've all been up to (as soon as I've overcome the laundry mountain...)