Back

We are just back from France. (The compensation for British weather, of course, is that France is only a ferry 

away). Two weeks with no wi-fi, so I've come back to a pile of un-checked email (including some moderately 

important work stuff - oh, well) and several hundred unread blog posts. You'd think I might have used all the 

non-internet time for getting useful stuff done, but no- mostly I was just eating butter. (Did I mention we were 

in France?) The area we were in (Brittany) has this amazing butter which is unsalted -creamy and almost 

sweet - but studded with big flaky salt crystals. Honestly.Honestly. It's like having your mouth filled with dancing

 angels. Why don't the rest of us demand that our own butter manufacturers get on board with this? In the first 

four days, we had to go back to the shop three times to buy more butter because we were eating it so darn fast.

 Also - the other regional speciality is this same salted butter boiled up with sugar to make salted butter 

caramel. Salted butter caramel everywhere! Why did nobody tell me this? I would have gone years ago. 

On a related note - she who goes to France without elasticated waistbands is an idiot. Ahem.

Anyway. I'd say that it's good to be back except it's not - it stinks to be back. I feel discombobulated and 

discomposed and cranky. Why isn't my fridge full of salty crunchy creamy butter? Why aren't my parents 

getting the children up in the mornings?  Why isn't there a beach outside my window? I don't want to go 

back to work, and I don't want John to go back either. Why can't we go to the aquarium instead? Also - why 

did I think that it was a good idea to book the children's first dentist appointment tomorrow? 

I love holidays. I really do. I just hate how, for the first few days back, I always feel like this: