We went away for a night; my husband and I.
I wanted him to see 'The Pig', a place I've frequented a few times recently. It oozes a Mumford & Sons feel that I knew he'd like. You know the type of thing: drinks served in jam jars, achingly cool/pretty staff in a uniform of Converse, skinny jeans and a shirt and tie, claw-footed, free-standing baths and understated shabby chic decor. I felt like we fit the demographic as we ploughed through lunch, dinner and then breakfast, nourished on the luxury of no interruptions and no washing up.
Hotels, for me represent my old life. Invariably, we go there to escape our house and our kids. I sit in the dining room and wonder if all of the other couples are doing the same thing. Some bring very young babies - ambitiously - tucked discreetly under tablecloths in rocking seats, praying that they will sleep through the three course meal. I regard them with interest; couples younger than us - or at least they seem it - we embarked on parenthood so early, maybe that is just my perception. I revel in the lack of activity required when staying in a hotel. There is nothing to do except mooch and read and sleep and eat. How it differs to my normal life. My husband usually starts a well-trodden monologue about how he would like to run an establishment of his own (a long-held ambition of his) and I retort that it has to be a labour of love, there is no money in it and it's crazy-hard work. Looking after the Great British Public is not necessarily my idea of fun, but I can see that running an uber-stylish hotel might be quite interesting.
The very done-ness of hotels appeals to me, as we still live through the undone-ness of our house. Hotels don't overflow with possessions, drawers crammed full of family life. Cupboards begging to be cleared out. The never-ending cycle of family life.
I spend the time not wanting to be one of those couples who don't speak at dinner; marooned on their own table with no conversation to act as an oar. But at the same time, when silence ensues, I enjoy it, because it says something to be comfortably silent with someone you've sat opposite for twenty years.
Staying away makes coming home all the sweeter.
In other updates, I have had to abstain from moving anywhere too fast due to my log-carrying injury! I returned to yoga this week which was as challenging and as lovely as ever. I am mildly obsessed with a brand of active clothes called Montiel - as recommended by my friend Robin. This kit works.
My sister in law Natasha, who moved with her little family to Dubai last year, has started blogging again. I am intrigued to read her views about changing country with two small children and what's on her mind. One thing about blogging is that it gives a window in to the every day world of the writer - I often notice that friends and family don't email me to find out what I am up to - they don't need to, as they read about it here! I am looking forward to reading Natasha's bulletins and staying more up to date with her...
Enjoying the latest series of 'Girls', particularly how Hannah has quit her rural, high-brow writing course as it was just too damn hard. Makes me think about my plans to re-enter the educational sphere and how, at the age of 40, I'm hopefully better equipped to cope with success and failure, whichever presents itself first! I heard from my old boss today and got an insight into the corporate world I have left behind. No regrets, but it is strange to see how my own trajectory has peaked and dipped. As ever, in the fullness of time I can see how the dips serve to inform the peaks and it's all part of a necessary journey (here I am; still neck deep in existential mid-life thoughts).
It feels to me like the Spring might be coming, although it is still necessary to shroud myself in a down coat every time I step outside. Maybe one day it will be warm again...
