Thursday, August 11, 2011


“Mam. The bulls in the next field are jumping on top of each other and wrestling” Jip said. “Interesting”, I said.

Surrounded by the beauty of nature and the innocence of youth, we are summering in Normandy, me and my children, eating lots of baguette and home-made jam, swirling on swings, sailing on gusty winds, trying to catch the sun before the rain falls again.

Today, I kicked the children out of the house, as they were draped over the couch and the sun did shine, our days being numbered. “Don’t come back till tea time”. I said. “Go and explore the fields” Rosie wept and went upstairs for another costume change, her third of the day, and Jip revolted by playing Lego in the front room.

Rosie has developed a dance that is rather vulgar. MTV vulgar, involving rubbing her hands all over her body and wiggling her behind, as she sings a made-up melody. We do not know where she picked this up, from a friend she says, but we do not like to encourage it, which sets her big eyes sparkling and sends her wiggles a little deeper. It is not a good sign.

Jip, at nine, may be too young to know about homosexual bulls, but he certainly has feet before his age. This weekend he officially reached my size, 40, and I am waiting to wear his new Tigers.

We are weaning off the social activities; weddings in white on Ibiza, old friends, new friends, sunshine and rain. We made a short tour of Europe with our good friends from over the seas; Amsterdam, Friesland, Normandy and hey, there they were again, our friends, under the Eiffel tower, near the carrousel, glowing amongst the crowds. My son and I went to Paris for a day. A penknife with Paris landmarks is his new pride and joy. A gold pocket mirror with the Eiffel tower for Rosie, who stayed in the countryside that day. She keeps it in its velvet casing, in the pocket of her patent pink handbag, picked up for 50 centimes at the fair last Sunday. Now shades of boredom are back in the children’s lives again, which is very healthy, if you ask me.

Meanwhile up North, A, is getting used to working, driving to an office in a real car with leather seats, everyday. He wears a blue shirt and a jacket and has a big desk behind which to sit. It is not so busy yet, a phantom of the job that will start in September after Burning Man. Three landed, now just me to go.

For summer reading, I would like to recommend “Just Kids” by Patti Smith (listening to Horses) and “when God was a Rabbit” by Sarah Winman.

Love, S1

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