Seven weeks later and the summer holiday is just about over. And it's really been rather excellent. The idea was to spend an awful lot of time relaxing, an awful lot of time having a great time with Molly and an awful lot of time writing. I'm not sure about the relaxing - I've not really had the spare time to do that - but the other two have certainly happened (see here)
It used to be a horrible time, this final weekend of the summer holidays. I'd spend it in a horrible mood, futilely thinking up reasons not to go back, trying to work out a way to find something else to do. But not now. Obviously I'm not saying I'd rather be at work - especially not after having a great seven weeks. But there's no great horror in going back. And that's such a wonderful feeling.
I would write more, but hey, it's Sunday night and I've a last night of holiday to enjoy.