For seven days, our lives slowed down so much we lost track of time.
There was the occasional walk across a deserted beach.
There were wonderful meals in remote Inns, where we had the surprise of meeting Other People. Where there was bustle and noise and music and laughter.
But most of the time, we had complete peace.
I came to realise how many hours a day my dear FL spends fast asleep. And the sheer effort involved in climbing a short flight of stairs.
I started the week with such plans, such plans for sewing…
skirts, trousers, a blouse? But… there was no iron in the cottage!
So I sat and I thought about it for a while. And realised there was no rush. There was no rush, and there was perfect peace.
So I picked up my sock and I knitted. And I knitted some more. Days passed. Perfect sunny days spent sitting in a sun porch with a view of the still blue sea.
I did a little bit of sewing… and I will show you that another day.
But mostly my days were counted in rows.
And lines were written in my journal.
Sketches were drawn.
I baked bread and I sprouted snow peas.
There was no TV, no telephone, no demands on our time other than the ones we created for ourselves.
A perfect holiday at the House With The Red Gate.