Everybody gets to go to the moon in June.

OK. So I spoke too soon about summer and sun, heat and dust. After a week or so (part of which I was back in Blighty) the weather has changed to sort of how it should have been in April. All the roses are over however and the garden looks green and lush but devoid of any colour.
I took a week back in the UK to re-arrange the showroom and add a few new goodies. www.wattswishedfor.com and was surprised to see how, quite unconsciously, I seem to be creating little pockets of varying nationalities in my displays. I now have a very british corner, which looks sweet and makes me want to be living in an english country garden again. However I have to pinch myself and  remember that the sun only shines approx two weeks a year and the concept of heat on the body is unknown to the pallid Brits.
So I was outta there quick as you can say "Cook me up a kipper". Problem was the ever accommodating Ryanair only have one flight to Nimes at 6.25 am. That means leaving Norfolk at 3 am. Thats not funny.
Anyway I made it and arrived home at 10am and went straight to bed.
I have been in a relationship now for seventeen years with the Old Etonian fishmonger Mike Gurney.
I can't live with him because he smells of fish; and fish and fabric do not mix due to absorbency issues.
It is fair to say I love him, but his habits don't please me. I think one needs to be meticulous about one's dress code if one is involved with fish. The Fishmonger though will clean himself up for a coming event, and then moments before we get in the car to leave he will remember he neglected to remove kippers from his smoking kiln.  He will return to the car some twenty minutes later with a tray of kippers to drop at his shop (on the way to the wedding!) The shop however is not on the way to the wedding and the car
and his suit are now impregnated with the smell of prime smoked herring, I am angry, and the poor unsuspecting wedding guests  blissfully studying their hymn sheets will shortly be on the move to a distant pew once said Fishmonger sidles in to a back row position. What an embarrassment he was to his poor children at school gatherings. There are more stories about the Fishmonger that will out over these pages if I am diligent and committed to writing. For now though I am back where the sun is shining and the whippets are happy to see me.