I’m home. The rain and grey skies of England are a bit of a shock after sunny Switzerland, and I feel anti-climactic and, quite frankly, low. Coming back from a holiday is always like that, I guess, as we unpack and creak into action, the kids going back to school in a few days. We were up at 5.30am so I’m tired.
Listen to me, moaning. And I shouldn’t be moaning, because I am lucky and I’ve had a lovely time away. But these low feelings are dangerous. In the past, my husband and I would have a celebratory, the holiday’s not quite over bottle of wine on our return; in anticipation of this, I have made sure there is plenty of tonic water in the fridge so I can make a mocktail instead.
And talk about future-tripping: I’ve just gone into one of the rooms in our house where we often sit by the fire when we have guests, and the first thought that came into my mind was, ‘Oh no! I won’t be able to sit by the fire this winter and drink wine with friends!’ NOT good sober thinking.
Day 3 – because I have started the counting from the beginning again – and not feeling on top form, but I won’t worry about that, I’ll potter through the next few hours and know that it’s ok to be down.