La Creuse. Le soleil. Rien a faire. C'etait merveilleux.

Back home and my Tempest flowers are dead.

My cast grin out at me from behind a glass photo frame.

I sit, despite my best holiday intentions, on the sofa, post-committee meeting watching the tail end of the ten o' clock news eating a chicken kebab (seemed like a good bet at the time).

And already looking forward like an idiot to everything that's coming up next.