I won’t lie, this year I feel like it’s the first time in what feels like a long time I’ve had the time and inclination to follow fashion and really enjoy buying new pieces for my wardrobe.  Last year I was heavily pregnant in April and May (when all the really pretty, summery things start to appear in the shops) and then, after Teddy died, the last thing I wanted to do was shop.  Nothing fitted me, and I could barely look at myself in the mirror, let alone be in the mind frame to enjoy clothes.  I got some new bits out of necessity more than anything; essentially because I was struggling to fit more than one leg into the previous year’s clothing!  Saying this, I did end up with some lovely bits, and hopefully ones that I’ll use again this summer; if they’re not now too big!

I’ll be the first to admit that when we first booked our two night stay in the Cotswolds as a tag-on to our usual Cornish retreat, I was a little dubious.  Don’t get me wrong, the interiors and the look of the cottage had me hooked; but the thought of exploring somewhere we didn’t know too well filled me with doubt as opposed to excitement.  I think this is something that has happened to me in the wake of Teddy dying; I used to be keen for excitement and adventure, and now I am just happier at home and doing things I know and love.  Not that I imagined two nights in the Cotswolds would be a particularly wild prospect, it was just the unknown.

After nearly a year away from my job on maternity leave, I finally gave my notice in this week (Breathes out huge sigh of relief and pent up anxiety!).   I thought about this decision long and hard, it was not something I took lightly, and I can tell you that it kept me awake many nights worrying about what I would be throwing away.  After a particularly difficult Christmas and an equally bad start to January,  it dawned on me; there wasn’t really a “choice” at all. The answer was already in me, I wasn’t able to go back.

Other than my wonderful husband; there is one other true love in my life.  He is about thirty centimetres tall, likes wild days out and cosy nights in, and never fails to make me smile; no matter how sad things are.  I am, of course, talking about Boris.(He’s a pug by the way; just in case you hadn’t got the gist of this one from the title?)