End of the road

Last full day of our return to old haunts. And we made the most of it. Conor and his pals were safely delivered to their last day of football camp, Katherine to a friend, and me to clean the rented house a bit (err, and have a wee sit and read my book - well I'm on holiday too...) Later, football camp boys came home to empty the house of all the food I needed to get rid of (it turned out with near vomiting later that possibly too much of that was chocolate based...) and then we headed with my friend L and her gorgeous and very broodiness-inducing 18 month old daughter to the beach.

Katherine joined us later, and then more friends, with some swimming, some catching up and some being buried in the sand (Conor's toes starring here). Then home to prepare a feast for the returning Mr B.

Now, some more fridge and wine shelf clearing before tomorrow's frantic packing, cleaning and flying to Spain. Ooh, it's a hard life.

I had worried, coming back here to where we were all so happy and settled, that at some point it would hit me: I'd put my head in my hands and cry out "what have we done????" And though there have been poignant moments, mainly wondering about the chances my kids are missing to have 'this' life, I am happy with the life we have chosen for all of us. And I'm delighted to say that our kids seem to be too. Well, providing (they tell me) that we can come back here often to see their friends. We will do so, for sure. A good number of my favourite folk live here so I will be back even if they change their minds.