I woke up this morning with a desperate appetite for warm ginger spice cake and a long cool glass of skimmed milk.

In another lifetime I would have been there with my pink apron tied over my nightie frantically whipping myself a life together, determined to null my every whim with a spoonful of molasses and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Baking a cake before I’d brushed my teeth.
You know this, Housekeepers. You were there.

But not today. In the months since Mark left I have lost almost four stone.  Not through the miracles  of the mad maple syrup diet, but through, I think, the miracles of becoming real. True, it’s hard to know whether I’m coming undone or finally buttoning myself back together. It’s hard to know whether this total  abandonement of who I  was is  a very good thing at all, when the reflection that stares back at you  is so very unfamiliar you find yourself needing every spare minute to get used to the she you have become. When, indeed, you find yourself doing things, saying things, wanting things that only existed in the periphial of someone elses imagination before…

Three weeks ago I met someone who made me ache to be the bestest me. Someone kind of purer than I will ever be. It doesn’t matter, who or how or where. It doesn’t matter that thinking about him makes me kind of beam. That being with him for however short a time  rendered me calmer than I ever remember being. None of it matters because fate intervened and it was over before it began.

And I think it’s ok. In fact it is ok. The timing is all out but what is for us won’t pass us right?  And what isn’t for us will, we hope find true happiness elsewhere…

So I’m ready to start again. The silly season that really rather fabulously followed Mark’s departure has passed away with the Summer sun and now it is  time to re-invent my life to suit the person I have had no choice but to become.  My unofficial  mourning period for what no longer exists is over and it’s time to get back to who I  always intended to be before my hopes and dreams were hijacked by the sheer indignity of long term compromise.

Brocante Home will be back with a vengeance. I’ll be cooking up a low carb storm, getting all our homes ship shape for Christmas and regaling you all with tales  to rival Carrie Bradshaws,  as  I venture  onto the dating scene with my heart wrapped  in ribbon and safely tucked away in my comfort drawer…

Wanna come along for the ride?