The holiday

Finally got some time to write. Ok, so the kids are howling for their food, the cat tray smells so bad that it could be the next international deterrent and the ironing is taking on its own identity; It has its own sovereign state in the corner of the Snug. But so what, SOD IT! I vowed when I came back from holiday that Sunday was going to be restored to a day of rest; Peace, spiritual practices and pleasure. I have picked out my angel card for the week - Patience. (Bummer - I hate that one, I am not patient at all. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up that's me. Manic rushing around most of the time) I am now blogging and have chilled out today. So thats a good start to the new regime.

I want to share a few pics from my holiday although I don't reckon a blow by blow account is really necessary, hooray I hear you cry, so I will post some pithy observations instead.

It was a holiday of two weeks. The first one in a static van, the second in a cottage. The weather was totally glorious. Sunny, I got a tan - I spent at least 5 days on the beach soaking up the sun and reading. Relaxation was at maximum and I can honestly say that I have only just got myself back. Most of me has been in Pembrokeshire muttering about how life should be and how crap working really is. Give me a VW van and a head scarf and I would be off to live in a wigwam.

One thing I have learnt though and my first observation is that I have finally kicked the caravan habit. I will never ever ever stay in a van again. It was damp, it was cramped and the beds were dreadful. For many years I have loved vans, transforming into a 7 year old the minute I walked in the door. Rose coloured specs firmly in place as I ooohed and ahhhged over the miniature stove and bedrooms. The cosy lounge that doubled up as a diner and being woken by the crows stomping on the roof and the little kettle that whistled on the hob. mmmmm yes, right - ok, finally shaken that off. Give me a BIG agar, real beds that are warm and in proper rooms, space to read in solitude when Jeremy Kyle is being avidly watched and no impact from the surrounding wildlife. Yes, its buildings with bricks for me from now on!

The holiday was ace, in spite of the van. Pembrokeshire was glorious.

I usually rush round like a Japanese tourist on hols but not this time. The Beach loomed large. Of course the weather helped but even so I would have gone there anyway; spending large chunks of time listening to the sea seems to clear out all the crap, from my head at least. I have resisted The Beach for a lot of my life. Loved it as a kid but once I had kids of my own it was a place of torture; endless requests for the toilet and ice creams. I used to do anything to avoid the beach but now they are all grown up and happy to book their own wetsuits and surf boards its a place of tranquility and peace.

I still enforce the law on the beach; Any activity is the total responsibility of the 'Dad'. Mr Vixen has always been the most amazing beach Dad and I am so grateful for this. He has played cricket and rounders. He has played endlessly in dingies and on body boards. All I have to do is prepare the picnic and read. Great stuff! This year was no exception and I caught up with my personal journal, read my new witchy book, sorted my entire diet out including recipes as well as an even more in depth look at the Tarot. Beach bliss!

Right ... wondered how long it would be ... daughter has just protested in a very loud and aggrieved way about the lack of activity in the kitchen. Maybe that should be the next Sunday rule, no cooking!