How hard is it to come back from sunny, steamy, sexy Rome to dreary old France? Very. Because this month we Frogs are having to endure what is commonly called an été anglais, i.e. bad weather during summer. When I stepped of the plane at Charles-de-Gaulle airport in my shorts and spartiates* and was met by icy wind doubled with a cloudy sky, I felt as though it was already September.
Luckily my mother came to the rescue, and whipped me off to her house in the country. I spent a few rejuvenating days reading and baking, sipping a glass of iced rosé in between. Her plum tree was absolutely heaving with fruit, so we made plum tart, plum crumble, plum stew et al. Cue cliché of steaming home-made pie in a warm country house.
What else? Happily shopping for the new flat. Went to the Chinese quarter in Paris and bought some china bowls and stuff, brought back a Miffy calendar and Hello Kitty egg cup from Rome. I now have a little pile of 'leaving home' stuff, in which none of the essentials figure. And obviously, even though I have been begging for one for years, my dad gets a cat just as I am moving out. And, of course, she is the cutest thing on earth. A replacement daughter, anyone?!
*gladiator sandals
