Well I 'm back from Austria, where we really did climb e'vry mountain (well, one) and sing 'The Sound Of Music' in sun-dappled meadows peppered with alpine flowers. It would have been rude not to.
It was so relaxing it's hateful to be back, especially at work. When you go away you're meant to forget all about your stresses and the people who get your goat on a daily basis. But that's easier said than done. On occasion, while lying in my fluffy robe gazing at the moutains which surrounded our Tyrolean spa, I could feel the rage boiling over. By the end of the week however, after being massaged back to life and floating in darkened rooms, I felt myself again. I'm trying to keep it that way.
It was possibly the most relaxing holiday ever in The Town Where There's Nothing To Do, as it is now officially known. There wasn't even a cake shop - rare for Austria, though there was a shop where you could by lederhosen and other national dress. Needless to say we browsed.
But I did get time to catch up on some reading. Stuart Maconies Pies and Prejudice was a treat. He's such an amusing writer. It was incongruous reading this in the Alps, but perhaps all the better for it, as I could picture England as whole, rather than sitting in London thinking northwards. Also enjoyed Malcolm Pryce's The Unbearable Lightness Of Being in Aberystwyth. If you've not read any of his Aberystwyth books you must. Inventively, the small Welsh seaside town is as dark and dangerous as Raymond Chandler's LA, and it's this noirish twist that makes the books so worthwhile. Start with Aberystwyth Mon Amour, you won't be disappointed. I also read Ian McEwan's 'novella' On Chesil Beach, which was as quick to read as a magazine article, but three or four times more satisfying.
So apart from sudden hailstorms with hail stones the size of gold balls, we had a most gorgeous time. One thing that puzzled me though, was that I've never seen so many burkas this side of Abu Dhabi. For such a small town, the place was awash, and I'm not joking. All holidaying it would appear, but never doing anything but staying in the rooms, and that goes for the kids too. Strange.
So while Mrs F-C still languishes at home, probably in a dressing gown, possibly not, I'm winning bread, man. But at least I get to blog again.
