French Bank Holidays in England

Exactly 4 months to go till I depart the belle city which is Paris for good and return to the Land of Eng!  While the majority of year abroad-ers have come to the end of their journey, I am in fact only 2/3 of the way through mine.  And how do I feel about this?  Not best pleased.  All my friends will have left by summer which will leave me with nothing but a broken heart.  I've contemplated various cures but they all seem to involve eating my body weight in sugary tarts and macaroons to get over this abhorrent loss.  But on the upside, I'll be able to epitomise the lone city-goer who has a penchant for visiting museums and art galleries with nothing but the clothes on her back, a map, and a worn rucksack. Cool, right?  And perhaps I'll meet Mr. Right somewhere, drooling over a few paintings of waterlilies.

So I'm currently in the UK because the leisure-loving French have given me quite a few mid-week bank holidays to while away my time!  So tadah!  My current whereabouts (i.e. slap bang in the middle of that notorious place better known as Essex) provides me with a paradoxical universe.  All I can see are fields and the only sounds blasting through my bedroom windows are that of birds chirping and the occasional distant lawn mower.  Sure makes a change from city life.

Earlier this week I went for a trip to the Suffolk coast with my friend Sam and we quite happily found ourselves sitting on a bench soaking up the serenity of our surroundings.  We then drove to a lake and the blissful peacefulness seemed incomparable.  The seething sun simmered the water as it gurgled on the mud banks. The gentle clap of a kayaker's paddles on the lake's surface gave a glorious swish as large ripples of water fell back into the vast body.  The essence of tranquility.  I'd never appreciated the countryside so much until that moment.

But it's not all countryside bliss: I've just come back from London.  The idea was to meet up with friends and soak up the sun in a park somewhere but this particular plan had to be readjusted because the only thing we'd be soaking up was the rain, and lots of it.   Instead we hit Caffe Nero for a panini and a hot drink, trying to perform masterclasses on our frizzing hair which was beyond hope.  So instead we squelched our way over to the British Museum to stare at some old books, Mexican pottery, Egyptian vases and Mummies.  To say I was having the time of my life would be an understatement.  And yes, I'm being sarcastic.  Another reason I was desperate to go to London was because I had to get my hair done.  I know that might seem a little excessive - to go to London for a haircut - but my hairdresser performs wonders and the very idea of trusting a French hairdresser is out of the question.  Wouldn't want to accidentally find myself with one of those risque side-shaves, dreadlocks or purple highlights.  Not that that is particularly common after walking into a French hairdressers, but you can never be so sure....

Watch this space.

Montana