Comings and goings

So we’re back. And it feels….

Familiar.

And strange.

I’m just freewheeling with my emotions at the moment – ignoring the stunned, slightly dazed feeling that comes from a cocktail of jetlag, overwrought emotion, uncertainty and exhaustion – and focusing on the minute to minute. And the truly genuine joy at being back amongst the family.

The first of the lasts. And another first.

I should be packing for Berlin (I did mention I was going to Berlin somewhere back there didn’t I? August long weekend? Plane tickets a birthday present from the husband? Pilgrimage to my favourite city One Last Time? Ringing any bells?)

Anyway – we’re off tomorrow after work and I am so looking forward to it. Four days to bike around, eat good food, drink wine in the sunshine and trawl flea markets for treasure. Happiness on a stick.

All I want for my birthday is f-ing sunshine

So I had a LOVELY birthday. Lovely. There was colour, there was alcohol and there was a poem – a rhyming one at that – about my apparent love of profanity. I should qualify that most of the poem, written by my lovely husband, concerned the fucking dreadful English weather but I concede there may be some truth amid the rhyming couplets, shit weather or not.

I mean when I say shit weather, it didn’t POUR, but there was enough consistent drizzle to warrant concern about my new purple Parisian shoes and not even the faintest lick of lily-livered sun to give hope to proceedings.