I do love a good three day weekend. I was still sitting on the sofa in my pyjamas at 10.30 this morning. I had a doughnut for breakfast and am contemplating nothing more today than a quick trip to the garden centre to replace the lavender that I managed to kill (clearly, I’m having some mixed successes when it comes to my balcony garden…).
I spent the Easter weekend with my parents at our house in France. It was lovely for many reasons (mainly involving sunshine, wine and not having to go to work). Contrary to what many people imagine, most of the restaurants around us are absolutely terrible, serving overly-fussy and complicated food at hugely inflated prices. Given the quality of the local produce, it seems such a waste.
I started off this post writing:
It’s always at about this time of year that I start to become a little (or a lot) impatient. At the first sign of spring, I’m desperate for full-on summer.
And then I went to look at what I’ve posted before and realised that I’d written almost exactly the same thing, pretty much word for word, at the start of May last year. Clearly, I’ve not got any better at not wishing my life away.