So I don't have a life. Or I have my friends' life and they have mine and the chances of making a simultaneous sweet escape are few and far between. Now that summer is here, it says so in my calendar and it is unseasonably warm, people with their surreally long vacations scatter like forest fauna fleeing fire. Away, away! You come back here, I say. Don't you dare leave me. Stellaaa!!! Ah shucks, she's long gone.
Every other person living in and around the capital seems to have come from somewhere else. I guess that's where they're headed and it is as if they could not get there fast enough. (Scandinavians are big on summer houses and cottages, preferably by some lake in the middle of nowhere. Amenities aren't necessary; peace and quiet are.) Or they're on a plane to Spain or Greece or Italy where they will run into the neighbors, colleagues, relatives etc. they were running from in the first place. (I've yet to visit London without running into someone I know who doesn't live there either. Small world? Microscopic.)
Hubby's working, the kids are sleeping over at his parents, and I'm living la vida loca sitting in our garden reading and writing. Ever grateful for the amenities, even more so for the peace and quiet.
No comments:
Post a Comment