Let me describe my lunch.
Those of you acquainted with my lifestyle will be thinking “7 bits of left-over cold pasta twirls, a chewed crust and some broccoli, slightly mushed, scraped off of small, plastic, Barbapapa plate, followed by a dribbled in, slightly snotty, half-eaten strawberry yoghurt.”
Well no. Not today. Today I am eating green salad, crisp crackers and fresh goats cheese, all oozled in fine olive oil and ground pepper. Wow. How healthy. How slimming-seeming. How sophisticated. It would be, except the only reason I am eating this is because it’s all we have in the fridge. Aside from coffee. And chocolate. Which I am now going to have to eat lots of, in order to make up for such a healthy meal.
The other freaky thing about this lunch is I AM EATING IT ALL ON MY OWN. Outside. On the terrace. Breathing in the view. Yes, I am gloating, because usually I don’t even notice there is a view there as I dash up and down the stairs to the kitchen fetching kitchen paper, a bib, another spoon, some fizzy water and a replacement plastic cup for the one that got flung over the balcony into the vegetable patch.
Sister Two will write to me saying “Oh no, you’ve blown it – people don’t want to know you’re having a lovely, peaceful lunch – we want to read about you struggling out there in your lost-in-France village”. Do not fear. I shall be struggling anon. Léonie will wake up, Tommy will get home from school and it’ll be all hands on deck.