I can’t think of much else these days; running and cooking and all that jazz are all very well, but I’m really just counting down the days (it’s 6 weeks – it’s 42 days – it’s 1010 hours!) till I leave Melbourne and head back to Europe. I cannot wait to be in France (and I’m already regretting not going straight from Melbourne to Mummy… my long weekend in London now seems like a stupid idea) and there are so many things I am looking forward to:
hanging out with my mother, sister and naughty little brother
charcuterie. cheese. charcuterie again.
going down to the boulangerie every day for fresh bread
doing so in the company of my much adored boyfriend
romping with the dogs
going for long walks in the woods around where we live
having an entire house at my disposition instead of just a room or two
yoghurt that doesn’t taste like it’s been stripped of all joy and humanity
going on adventures with James
long runs “dans la nature”
reading all the Tintin books again in French
over-dosing on British comedy with my sister
getting purple whiskers from drinking too much local red wine
lazing around reading books instead of constantly checking my BlackBerry
Miel Pops! Frosties! Weetos! Crousty Miel! all washed down with Fresh Milk that doesn’t upset my tummy
NOT BEING AT WORK
did I mention the food? THE FOOD!
showing James the beautiful town centre of Cahors, its cathedral, its bridges, the Mont St Cyr
swimming in the tiny little swimming pool, which seemed so huge to me the first time I saw it 15 years ago
snuggling with the kitties and then shoving them off the couch when nobody is watching because of the delight I get from their butthurt faces
driving with my mother and flinching as we fly around corners* but still loving it because every car ride with her reminds me of other countless car-rides over the last 27 years — being alone in a car with Mummy always feels like we’re running away from Daddy and there’s an inexplicable, incomparable joy and sense of mis-behaving that comes with it
croque-monsieurs and steak-frites and galettes bretonnes and pains au chocolat and petit-salé and chouquettes and brioche and baguettes jambon-beurre, at all the bistrots and boulangeries I encounter
LA PATATERIE! because LA PATATERIE, C’EST NUL!
Leclerc, Carrefour, Champion, and their aisles of gateaux secs
trains, even though I’m now no longer eligible for the “12-25” prices 😦
speaking French again on a daily basis and ditching my recently acquired anglo accent.
*Not because you drive badly, mamma, but because you do drive quite quickly on those tiny country roads, and I’ve never got used to it!