Finley and I are driving each  other nuts.  The child  never stops talking and according to the ludicrously  demanding little monster all my human rights died a death the day they sliced my tummy open and whipped him kicking and screaming into the world. I think he’s unreasonable about just about everything  and he thinks I’m a cow because I don’t consider gluten free bourbon biscuits to be suitable breakfast material.

Thank goodness he starts pre-school on Monday.

Oh I know. I’m supposed to wail and mourn because my baby is,  at three years old about  to don a  mini uniform and troop off to mix with the great unwashed for four hours a day for the next two years, but really, would you consider me wicked if I told you I could dance with glee?

I’ve got visions of re-inventing my whole life in the fours a day we are out of each others hair. Of finally finding the time to make BrocanteHome into the glorious online destination I always intended to be before life got in the way. Of being a lady who lunches

But we’ll see. No doubt I’ll find myself hopping back into bed in freshly pressed pyjamas on a daily basis instead, or watching Jeremy when I should be dallying with my HTML…

Hey ho. Happy days!