Last weekend was the last day of the bank holiday weekend in celebration of the Queen serving for 60 years on the throne. I'm not particularly patriotic but will admit to being a little swept up in red, white and blue fever.
I love a bit of community spirit and as each community came together to party it did make me feel good to be British. Especially so, as we drove past decorated villages with villagers huddling under marquees, determined not to let the torrential rain dampen their spirits. Good for them we said as we drove by in our clean dry car, peering out at another muddy and wet sack race.
We celebrated in another traditionally English way, come rain or shine. With a BBQ. The men huddled around the billowing smoke looking proudly on at the fire they had created to cook the meat they had hunted and gathered from the shelves of Costco. We women chit chatted inside. The day was completed with a union jack decorated cake. We had done our bit for Queen and country. We had sacrificed ourselves to potential food poisoning and pneumonia until another 10 years passes and we're called up again to have the day off work to stand in the rain eating pink sausages.
We had talked of the Queen fondly and what a great king Prince Willy would make. The only qualifying factor seemed to be his hamdsome horse face though.
It got me thinking. About how i spend a lot of time remembering a rosier past and a greener future. Wasn't it a mere 15 years ago that Queenie was out of favour with the country? How she was still going strong but we were already replacing her.
If you've had a conversation with me in the last 10 months about living in London you'll recognize this response:
"The shopping is unparaleled. The entertainment is some of the best in the world. We could see West End shows at the drop of a hat. There are world class art galleries and museums, all for free. Why, oh why did we leave!?" I wail.
What I've forgotten is the sweaty, crammed tube rides to get anywhere. Especially, holding on for dear life, nose squashed up against a sweaty armpit and not being offered a seat at 8 months pregnant. The fact that shopping now is pretty non existant on one income. The same goes for shows and no babysitters. The tiny box flats you live in, the intimidating kids on the streets, the inconsiderate neighbours, the pollution, the traffic etc.
Don't get me wrong, I had a great time but it was definitely time to leave.
Then there was the conversation I had with a friend(s) about how we'd love to live in another country. Somewhere warm and, no, that was it. Just warm. I wished for California. Where the sun shines and beaches are warm and sandy. Friends would drop into our big house. Heck, we might even get to know our neighbours. Crazy! Life would be one big party!
I haven't given up on living abroad for a couple of years at some point but i'm forgetting that life is pretty perfect right here and now.
I love our little home and how the boy has put so much effort into making it a modern masterpiece. I love my adorable Lady F and the way she cracks me up with her constant rasperry blowing and infectious giggles. I love the open green spaces on our doorstep, a perfect place for little ones to get muddy, run around and squeal at the top of their voices. I love the little community i live in and all the lovely mummy friends I've made.
So, go on. I challenge you too. Count your blessings. One, two, three.
And in the words of the mighty Red Hot Chilli Peppers...'I hope you have the time of your life'.
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