The past few days have not been kind to my budding ulcer – whom I have named Claus and whom I shall feed gin&tonic at first opportunity after lunch. There has been a project deadline, of a humongous and mindachingly boring project, at that. At the same time, I have been juggling multiple end of season social engagements and a visiting friend: what with leaving keys under carpets and finding time to shower – I have been stressed out. 

Usually, a few hectic days would be nothing, I’d just put my head down and get whatever needs to be done done. But last night I snapped. I do not know if it was the project itself, or the build-up of recent breakup, current homelessness and the need to be perfect hostess – there was a snap and that snap was heard around the world. Or at least, the office.

At the end of the day, running late and flustered, I had appx 15 minutes before I needed to be in cocktail dress, in heels, with something resembling an updo, half way across town. But instead of being within reach of my ladyshave, or at least, emergency tried and true bronzer, I stood swaddled in papers with the urge to kill the copymachine. Or euthanise it, more like.

And it dawned on me: this is not what summer should be like. Where was the white linnen? Where were the flasks of elderflower lemonade? Where were the big sea kayaks, and the profiteroles, the wellingtonds and the dusty roads, the hidden mushrooms in shade and the blackberries in full sun? Where were all the ingredients of a hot summer? I wouldn’t find them chez the office, thats for damn sure. The printer was one more thing on my list, the ulitmate symbol, of why I need some time off, pronto. Also featuring:

1) Legs are colour of egg-shell painted walls

2) I introduce my self in bars with title, surname and spellin my email-adress

3) I haven’t seen the inside of a kitchen in a few weeks

4) The garden is blossoming – need to tame it

So for the next few weeks: will keep you posted from beneath the apple tree.



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