This is my little terrace. I love it. Not that I’ve spent a lot of time on it this spring, or that I will in the near future. I’m not even there now. I’m in Toulon. Yesterday, The Husband and I dropped Fifty at camp, went to Aix-en-Provence for a lunch à deux, and then continued on our way southeast to Toulon. Mr. London is playing in the Top 14 championship in Paris tonight (that’s the French rugby championship… Toulon may be champions of Europe but they still haven’t been crowned champions of France) and he asked if The Husband and I would cheer him on… oui, bien sur. So that’s how I find myself sitting here in Mrs. London’s kitchen typing away before heading to the TGV station to take the train North later this morning.
The thing is, I’m barely going to have time to spend on that lovely terrace when we come back. Because even though we’re only spending one night in Paris, on the 6th we leave for Devon in England for a few days and then on the 15th we’re going to Lyon.
It’s all go around these parts, and I swear, one would think I have ants in my pants since I can’t seem to sit still. But I’m an old girl, and as much fun as I’m having, I can’t wait to get my butt back to that terrace, book in one hand, glass of Rosé in the other. In the meantime… no rest for the wicked.
P.S. My Dublin days aren’t finished! Stay tuned because the best bits are still to come…
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