This is coming to you by the wonders of technology and the goodness of Jeff Cohen’s enormous heart. I’m not here. Well, I’m here; everyone has to be somewhere. But here at the moment you’re reading this is not my cosy office somewhere in middle England, complete with such 21st century trappings as I’m prepared to put up with, but a village in France, sans e-mail, sans internet, sans everything except good wine, better food and a lot of relaxation.
The day before we set out, I completely forgot to e-mail an essential document to someone; being a far more efficient type than I am, she phoned me to ask where it was, and when I’d finished mea culpa-ing, commented wryly, ‘You’re really ready for that holiday, aren’t you?’ (Being British, like me, she said holiday, not vacation.) Rarely has a truer word been spoken. Times have been very interesting of late at Crème de la Crime.
When I get home next week, I’ll be plunged in at the deep end of the biggest change we’ve ever experienced. For the moment, that’s all I can say. But next week I’ll have big news to impart.
But now, if you’ll excuse the brevity, I’m going to enjoy the rest of my holiday. Vacation, if you prefer. There’s a chocolaterie in the village, and I keep wondering if Johnny Depp will turn up.
