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Don’t you just love the English summer.

Yesterday was the first day I had to revert back to wearing I decided to wear a long sleeved t-shirt..for the last three weeks I have lived in either shorts/swim costume/short sleeve shirt.

Even wandering through the Eurostar terminus at Gare du Nord, on our return journey, I still felt comfortable in my attire.  Directly we hit St. Pancras I am suddenly aware of….coats.  We tried desperately to blend in with the commuters.  While, just 750 miles away our friends and neighbours on a parc called la Carabasse, were still able to enjoy the attributes of the Med and surroundings.

Each morning, seeing the sun rising into a very blue sky, made me realise, why we go to the South of France on a yearly basis….be it just for 2 weeks.  The weather is more consistent, has an extra dose of blue sky and the sea is not only warmer but within walking distance from our place.

Its not just the obvious plus points but during this time, we tend to turn off to the concept of what day it is, let alone the hour.  (The only thing to remember which is important is to respect the siesta and realise all will shut at around 12-2.00 pm)  Alas, by the time we have got to that stage, its time to come home.   One day I will manage to turn much…I will forget to get on the plane/train.

The worst part of this yearly break, is of course, coming back to reality… and attempting to cure all the problems that have developed over that time span.

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t pile your bills up and leave them on the doormat for 3 weeks, so sifting through becomes a mountain to climb…. especially if you have forgotten something important.

Suddenly the blissful way of life, of the previous weeks seem a tad wasteful use of one’s own life existence.  The guilt trip piles on…until, someone asks you if you had a good time and you are thankfully thrown back to some great memories.


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