Mummy Blogger Competition Runner Up Post Seven

As part of our recent Mummy Blogger competition they won the chance to be featured on our blog.

Here’s the seventh runner up for you to read:


This blog entry is a competition entry for the lovely Tots100/Alfresco competition, in which I write about my best ever holiday.

We never would have gone to Bordeaux, but, people were getting married and we were going to be there, if possible. I’d picked out a pink, floaty dress and MindReader had decided not to match his tie to it this time, much to my chagrin.

The Illness reared its head, of course. “I am not well enough to travel,” I said, dramatically, holding my hands up in the airport, tiredness washing over me as I did so.

“I know,” MindReader said, holding my gaze. “We’ll just get on the plane. Next steps, next steps.”

We spent an obscene amount on an airport lunch and I slept on the plane and, stepping out into the sun, I was overcome by that feeling I get only once a year. The French even have a word for it: depaysement, which translates to ‘the feeling one gets when one is not in one’s home country.”

And, on that holiday, almost six happy months ago, depaysement describes exactly how I felt, and how things changed.

We lounged on sunbeds, books with curled corners discarded as we felt only the sun on our bodies. We went, giggling, in search of the sea which we could hear over the sanddunes but not see. We lazed about on windy patios, drinking crisp white wine and looking out onto satisfyingly symmetrical vineyards. We went for pizza at midnight in Andernos de Bains, our fingers oily and smelling of garlic as we walked home, hand-in-hand. We went house-hunting, looking idly at prices and imagining a life where we breakfasted on brie out on the decking. I wore things I would never wear in England; mad hats and playsuits and jazzy flip flops. We toasted ourselves, my health (cautiously), each other, the happiness we made, over drinks that looked like liquid velvet in the candlelight.

And I wasn’t really very well – no, not then – but the illness seemed less relevant somehow.

We landed in Birmingham on a blustery August afternoon. “Holiday is over,” I said. “Back to worrying.”

“Not at all,” MindReader said, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “New you.”

And he was right.

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