Dormant...

... and missing blogging and all of you.

But the countdown has now well and truly begun for Tom's birthday party, combined with Jantien's sculpture exhibition, next week, which in a blithe triumph of hope over experience, we believe will take place in our garden. At one time the prospect of catering for and receiving such a relatively paltry number of people would not have troubled me at all, but now I am less panicking than paralysed. I foresee torrential rain, the sculptures will get broken, the food will be inadequate or inedible, the French and the English will not talk to each other, Old Blind Helene will probably fall down the steps and Isobel will probably go into labour, in which case let's hope they happen at the same time so we can save on an emergency call.

Fortunately I have caring friends and relatives who will doubtless lick me into shape and somehow or other it will all happen and this time next week I will be heaving a sigh of relief and looking forward to going away to Finisterre the following day. If I've time I'll put something up then. Until then best to go into abeyance I think and try to focus. Regrets for not getting round and reading yours, please try not to have any traumas or epiphanies in my absence that I might miss out on! See you soon.