And... relax.

No Ryanair rants from me (save a very small and restrained "£3 for a bottle of water - really? And the only tap water is hot - very tempted to ask for two glasses of hot water and some ice. Resisted due to new campaign of non-violent smiley-ness).

We left home at 4.50am (brrr) and lunched under the trees at the table you can see at the bottom of this shot on the produce from the local market (ribs from the Rotisserie stall being the main attraction). Almost too hot for a t-shirt and jeans. Perfect. The kids were tired from the early start so voted for an afternoon's movie watching on the laptop. So Mr B voted for a long sleep in the garden and I indulged myself by lying in the sun with a wee glass of wine and a fabulously trashy detective novel that some renter left in the house this summer.

Perfect.

A little light weeding in the afternoon made me feel like I'd almost achieved something. (For Mr Smith, confused by yesterday's "gardening trousers" reference: think comfort; think 'I don't care enough about these trousers to worry if they get trashed'; think old hiking trousers that have an elasticated waist... not sexy, but essential with a post-French-lunch tummy.)

Work tomorrow: washing, weeding, cleaning. Don't feel too sorry for me though, I'm sure there'll be time for a long lunch too.