I have tons of things to do.  If I could be bothered I’d write a list.  Instead I let them flash in and out of my brain.  All begging to be started, finished; at least attempted.  All pleading that they’re top priority. Necessary if I want to achieve this, or that.  Gently reminding me that I’ll miss a deadline.  But what I really want to do right now is hunker down and wait for Spring, which according to my quick mental arithmetic guesstimate is still some 70 odd days away. 

That’s a long time to be doing jigsaws whilst listening to podcasts, lying in bed reading books, or working my way at speed through box sets; I’m currently in the middle of the BBC’s Marie Antoinette which is excellent and which I’ll finish in a splurge-binge tonight once I’ve done the afternoon Bert-walk, lit a fire and probably made a hot chocolate.  Something else I must stop. 

Having told myself that Christmas ends on Twelfth Night and not New Year’s Day when everyone else starts their post-festive fast, I’m still munching my way through anything and everything.  The chocolate that Jack and Dinah left because they’d no more room in their bags and which I promised I’d keep until their return has already been ‘borrowed’.  And the leftover cheese mountain has been grilled, grated or spread liberally on hunks of bread.  Even the little chocolate liqueur bottles which my sister Jo sent me assuring me I would love even though she knows I don’t normally like them have vanished.  Their tops were bitten off and most of the unctuous sticky sweet stuff poured down the sink, before they too gave me a quick sugar hit.  And yes I know Twelfth Night has already been and gone too.

Yes Christmas was busy and lovely.  Two weeks of family – Jack, Dinah and her mum Anne – and trips here there and everywhere.  Lots of meals out obviously, south west France is after all a gastronomic paradise, Christmas markets, little towns, canal side walks, searching for the stone cats in La Romieu, the festival of chinese lanterns in Montauban, les abattoirs modern art gallery in Toulouse, as well our local ronde des creches – eight villages all creating tableaux on a theme and incorporating in there somewhere the nativity scene.  This year the theme was foods of the world and as is now the norm, we took along our home-made Eurovision song contest-like score sheets and rated each on categories of festiveness, artistic interpretation and adherence to the brief.  I love that Jack reverts to that 6-year school child who when writing down his scores, guards his paper with an arm and a bowed head, so that no-one can ‘copy’ him. 

This year’s winner was Miradoux, a fabulous homage to Spain, complete with music, paella, tapas bar, the grain windmills of La Mancha, orange trees and flamenco dancers.  Last year’s victor Castet-Arrouy found themselves relegated to 3^rd place.   If they want my expert advice for next year, they’ll bring back le palais de sucre; a brightly lit van serving crepes, churros, waffles and candy floss.   Its absence this year being a major disappointment, we’d so looked forward to the sustenance of a Nutella crepe and this probably led to them losing that vital couple of marks for the top spot.  If ever there’s a job going as creche consultant, I’ll be sending in my CV.

By the time I drove back from the airport late on New Year’s Day, I was ready to flop.  And flopped I’ve been for almost a week.  I’m desperately trying to re-energise myself, to move more and eat less.  I’m due back in England in a few weeks’ time and at this rate will not be able to fit into any of my clothes.  Not the look I’m going for, bearing in mind most people haven’t seen me for ages and I of course want to appear fabulous, showing just how much living in a foreign field suits me. 

A lovely neighbour has just popped by, bringing me enormous pails of vegetables from his garden.  Maybe I could start by making a huge vat of sweet potato and red pepper soup.  And then I need to get myself back to Versailles and the Court of Louis XVI. And once they’ve all had their heads chopped off – I’m guessing that’s how it ends up – I can get down to actually tackling some of the really useful and practical stuff that needs doing.  And I’ll make a list.

Let me think, there’s various e-mails to write, replies to offers of help to promote my book, pitches to others, some marketing stuff that would be useful for making sure that Maison Lamothe is filled to the gills this spring and summer, I could begin some of the prep work on the external paintwork and shutters which definitely needs a re-paint this year, and there’s some budgeting and admin work needs doing and oh yes, I nearly forgot something really important. 

This weekend I received an unexpected invite to a wedding in October in Spain.  Such a lovely surprise and something to really look forward to.  Perhaps that is my top priority.  Finding something to wear.  Especially with so many fabulous on-line sales.  And the perfect incentive.  If I buy something that’s truly beautiful, an absolute bargain and a size smaller than I was even before Christmas, then all my prayers will be answered, won’t they?