Home sweet...

Well. Being home is odd. I missed Paris as soon as the Eurostar pulled out, in direct contrast to my last few days there when I couldn't really wait to leave. I must have had a hideous face on during my cab ride across London, because my cabbie simply stated exactly what I was feeling 'Its not Paris, is it love?'. Non. It most certainly is not. Hampshire in full summer bloom is admittedly lovely, my parents are on brilliant form, the girls are slowly trickling home (for our last summer ever all together, for the majority of them have now graduated and have jobs..its beyond strange), and all is, ostensibly, well with my world. But I feel like I've taken a step backwards. I haven't, of course, because this year 'changed me', 'made me better' etc etc blah blah ad infinitum, but still, going from living alone in one of the most bustling districts of a captial city to living 20 minutes from the nearest sleepy exceedingly middle-class small town is quite a jump. Still, London is but an hour away, and there are plenty of fun things coming up in the next few weeks to keep me busy - various 21sts, a mini-break to Rome, another fun-filled trip up to Oxford... I suppose the one conclusion I have come to after a week back here is this -


So that is at least one thing sorted for my future... Xxxx