Monday 20 February 2012

There's No Place Like Salted Butter

The trouble with holidays is they come to an end. We've just arrived back from the French Alps. A week of breathtaking scenery, fantastic skiing, loads of family time, great friends, lots of laughing, too many vin and chocolat chauds, pommes frites, baguettes with French butter (how can another country's butter taste so sublime?), and not a utility bill, Tesco queue or traffic jam in sight. Heaven. We were all sad to leave, flatter than Flat Stanley, wistfully watching the mountains disappear behind us. On the flight home I did some thinking. Could we sell up? Could we move out? Eat baguettes and unsalted butter forever? Bask in the sunshine, breathe the air, feel the tang of snow-chill on our skin, throw out the television, declutter, downsize, choose the simple life? It would mean sending the girls to a French school, of course, which they would fight against. But we'd convince them. We'd argue the importance of language skills in this day and age. Fluency in a second language would set them up for life...sod leaving all your friends and having to learn the French for you're it and no you can't have my kit-kat get your own. Combine the language proficiency with fresh air and healthy living and what better gift could we give them?

This type of post-holiday thought process is not unusual for me. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered moving to Majorca, the Dordogne, Tuscany, Naples, Cornwall, Devon, even Norfolk, in the time spent travelling back from these places. But then again, I spend most my life living in imagined unreality. I'm under no illusion that this character trait (flaw?) is the principal reason I write fiction - hiding in fanciful other-worlds, immersing myself in a crowd of made-up friends and enemies, spiriting myself away to a wordy haven of anywhere other than the-same-old-same-old. I am, it has to be said, a professional starer into space.

By the time we walk into our freezing house I'm feeling the full impact of a serious case of the holiday blues. What seems like a hundred suitcases now block the hallway, all of them stuffed with grubby clothes (good intentions to work the washing machine in the apartment went out the window amid a flurry of those-socks-have-at-least-another-day-in-them and let's-have-another-gin-and-tonic-instead). We have six dead house plants, a towering pile of post heralding the return of life-mundane, and the spectre of Monday morning school run drudgery looms large. 'That's it,' I state. 'We're moving. We're really doing it this time.'

Before I get on the internet to search for houses in the snow, however, I do what any self-respecting Brit does when they've been away from the homeland for any length of time. I make a cup of tea. When I take a sip I let out an unfettered sigh. It's the best cup of tea I've had all week. Then I hear my youngest daughter squeal with delight as she rediscovers the toys in her bedroom. My middle daughter is cooing over her hamster who seems genuinely pleased to see her (though I must admit, I'm not an expert in reading small rodent body language), the cats are purring, and I have a surge of warmth as I think about how pleased the dogs will be to see me tomorrow - tails wagging so frantically I'll worry the silly creatures will dislocate their hips.

Mr J shouts through from the living room that he's lit a fire. I glance at the suitcases and decide it won't do any harm at all to leave the clothes unwashed for a day, or maybe two, and instead I make a plate of toast, suddenly remembering how delicious a toasted slice of bread is, and how, when crowned with lashings of melting salty butter, it tastes like nothing else on earth. Mr J and I sink into comfy, familiar sofas with the younger two, and turn the television on. It's Ski Sunday. Maybe promising to give up the telly was a bit rash...

Then my eldest wanders in to join us, grabs a piece of toast and stretches out on the floor in front of the fire. 'That was a great holiday,' she says, her mouth full of toast. 'But I have to say, it's cool to be home.'

16 comments:

  1. Welcome home!! Sounds like a great holiday. I need to introduce my children to skis. Do they hire left footed boots in pairs for my son? You have got my mouth watering about hot toast and butter. I have not had proper butter since September. Lurpak Lightest is ok (as long as don't think about butter) but not the same! As nice as a foreign place is, I'm glad you're not leaving!!

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    1. Not sure about left-footed skis, but they do have left-fotted snowboards!! Even better, it's called 'Regular' to the right-footed 'Goofy'. My left-handed daughter thinks this is awesome! Lurpak Lightest is rubbish. Bet you can't wait for a scraping of the 'real' stuff. (Loving your blog-recipes, by the way)
      ;-))

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  2. I am so happy you're home! I've missed my pal for so many reasons but for just now , this very minute, I've missed you most because of your dogs wagging their tails so much they may dislocate their hips ! You're priceless missus :-D welcome home x x x

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    1. Thank you for your lovely message, my Twitter Pal Extraordinaire. We really MUST meet up one day - maybe for toast and butter. Thanks for being so generous with your compliments, too. Makes the 'being back home' thing way easier!! xx

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  3. You are most certainly Not Allowed to think of moving. We have just heard that two of our closest friends (and their three lovely kids) are upping sticks and are off to NZ :-( so I will hear no more of such talk. Unless you move to somewhere beautiful with at least two spare rooms, that is ;-) xx

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    1. I can't move...hamsters don't like snow. Mountain do, however. Ooo, dear. Torn. NZ is amazing - lucky friends. If they have two spare rooms, go go go!! x

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  4. Friends of ours are taking a sabbatical and doing a whole season out there with kids in French school...something to think about?! Welcome home tho!

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    1. Don't tempt me! I have been washing and dealing with rubbish jobs ALL day. Unsalted butter...you're forgiven, PLEASE can I come and live with you...!

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  5. I usually feel glad to be home about holidays, as I am quite a home bird - but NEVER about skiing! I'd happily live in France. That sabbatical idea does sound interesting....

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    1. Do you think anyone would miss us if we just sabbaticalled off for a bit? Come on, grab your woolley hat and let's go...

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  6. Familiarity breeds content?

    I want butter now. Oh, well. Lent starts tomorrow - I shall have to indulge in the bread and wine tonight...and butter!

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    1. Oooo, I like the familiarity breeds content. Very good. Enjoy that last glass of mid-week wine!!

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  7. What a beautifully written post - God, how I am just the same. Every time we go away on holiday, I've made plans to up sticks and live there forever. Yet, I think my mother would kill me...

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    1. Thank you!! And yes, along with the girls killing me for making them move schools, my mother would also be after my blood. Thanks for the comment (and the compliment). ;-)

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  8. Methinks you have not hit 'dripping' pah...to butter...but no time to eat - too busy reading blogs...

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    1. I wish I was toobusy writing blogs to eat! I'm not convinced about dripping. I like the romance of it - all hot firesides and toasting forks - but think I might have to take your word for it on this occasion!

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