Tuesday, September 1
Elvis was wrong
There IS a cure for the summertime blues.
I turned 34 on Sunday. It rained all day. My lovely girl had been taken away and replaced by the tantruming toddler from hell. Then it rained some more.*
The next morning, the rain clouds had taken up permanent residence above my head. I ate my breakfast in a fog of gloom. By 10am, I decided to take action. The best cure for the rainy bank holiday, God-I'm-getting-old blues? Don wellies and macs, head to the beach, splash in rock pools, find sea snails and do roly polys in the sand. Of course, there was the customary eating of hot, salty chips on the picnic blanket behind the rocks too.
Today, the sun came out, my head clouds have lifted and my sunshiny daughter is back. Hurrah for beach therapy.
*Despite this, had a lovely day and was completely spoilt with Neale's Yard goodies, wombly books, new funky music, the best chocolate in the world (orange and geranium - who'd have thought it?), bottle of posh Sauvignon Blanc, an incredible three course 'meals-on-wheels' from my lovely mam, and the most enormous carrot cake baked by Mr and Mini Meep.