3 February 2013

Sunday Breakfast In The Sun

(Here's another attempt to blog from my bed using the IPad. Apologies for poor quality pics and layout, but in my defence it's Sunday)

Did you see Monty's new programme?

I know we were meant to listen politely to Monty as he strolled round the gardens, absorbing snippets of cultural history along the way, but I couldn't help being distracted. Did you see that sunshine?! Sunshine! I haven't seen that much gorgeousness in literally years.

If I had really been there with him (perhaps as a lowly tea maker to the film crew) I don't think I could have listened quietly in a suitably reverential manner, but would have shed as many layers of clothes as decency allows then gone skipping off down those long paths, waving my arms about in that heat (can you remember heat?), and loudly exclaiming "woo hoo!"

When the sponginess of Manchester gets on top of me the dream landscape I like to escape to in my head is the wide expanse of a Danish beach (or the pier at Southwold - depends on how strong the need for coffee is). It's the huge horizon I crave. But the creative muse has missed a trick hasn't she? She forgot the gift of heat and fierce sun.

So, pardon me while I have my second Sunday breakfast croissant in a French garden.

I'm not sure if Monty is here with me. He's probably a bit high maintenance (aren't they all?), but that little car would be useful to get the papers with. Do they sell The Observer in France?