Sarah Sturt's Blog

It's a jungle out there

The thing about holidays is that you have to come back. Shake the sand out of your suitcase, and be aware that you'll be finding it in the carpet for weeks. Sort out the garden - which, in just a week, has become a ravaging beast, the grass is a foot high and the vine has fallen off the porch, making entrance into what has mysteriously become Sleeping Beauty's palace virtually impossible (apologies, Mr Postman). Indeed, before I let Daughter return to Plymouth, I forced her up a ladder, in gale-force winds, to tie the wretched thing back up again, skim the horror out of the pond (where does all that green stuff come from - it wasn't there a week ago!) and generally Sort Everything Out.

The other thing you have to locate is your brain, which has mysteriously switched off and, in my case, is definitely operating on Spanish time - which doesn't involve going to bed at a sensible hour in order to be up 'orribly early to get to Worthing this morning. So my first day back is not even in Kent - sorry team, I'll try and make it to Pudding Lane tomorrow, honest!

But we seem to have survived a review of the July magazine, in record time too, and everyone is pretty chuffed with our 'lavender edition', so it's onwards and upwards with August, which is coming on a treat.

Now I have to remember how to drive, which I failed dismally to do this morning, to Monkey's horror, and to continue a project I began last night which I thought had been sorted out by my siblings in my absence - a significant present for a significant birthday in the family. We have just a week and, in my mind, all I had to do was rock up and accept glowing compliments on the cleverness of said present. Only nothing has been progressed and it's big sis to the rescue, apparently. Aaaarrgghh!

To be continued...

Sarah