I've just got back from France where I have been staying with my beautiful sister and her (not so beautiful) husband (though he is very good at cooking so we'll forgive him for not being beautiful - at least until his skills wane).
I had a lovely and very relaxing time and like a true English girl stripped off and lay in the sun for hours with gay abandon and not a thought to wrinkled skin or, worse still - skin cancer.
My sister lives with her husband, five cats, six chickens and two dogs. The chickens are horrible but are very good at disposing of food waste (such as prawn's heads and feet) and produce amazing eggs. One egg every thirty four hours no less! I hope that when I die I don't come back as a chicken. The dogs are naughty and annoying (though lovable) and walk on you when you're trying to sunbath and the cats are all delightful in their own individual ways.
Since looking after some vile French children (I'm sure they're not vile because they are French) my sister has become very slim. She is also very tanned and looks very healthy. She seems happy though I can see that life is often a struggle for her... Personally I think she's very brave - she is getting very good at speaking French - though she will always play down her achievements in that way that she has perfected.
We had a disco in her bedroom with a compilation album that I had one of my lovely men from work put together for me - all the old songs that we used to dance to when we were teenagers. We danced like no-one was watching (because they weren't) and sang at the top of our voices until we felt sick.
Mon petite chaton went to stay with friends while I was away and drove them insane. He seems pleased to have his mummy back and has been running around the house shouting his head off and demanding that I have a bath (one of his favourite past-times is hanging out with me while I'm in the bath) though I don't give in to his demands having been ruled by a man one too many times. He smelled of their house so I sprayed him with perfume as a quick fix. Now he smells of perfume and their house but I'm sure it will wear off. I thought he might forget me and love them more but it doesn't seem to be the case. Even as I type he's gazing at me lovingly. How wonderful!
I managed to nip in to see my bad boy for a bit this evening as I had to collect something for my brother-in-law (who had returned to England with me in order to buy a car). He is just as bad and beautiful as ever. I asked him if he was ever going to start being good and he said 'maybe one day - when I'm about fifty'. I told him not to - I like him just the way he is.
Will I ever be a good girl? I'm not too sure. Even if he did try to make an honest woman out of me could I really accept it and settle down and make compromises after all this time of being on my own? Am I really what I claim to be? The eternal batchellorette?