Spring Break always seemed such a romantic, happy idea; the stuff of Sweet Valley High novels and letters from distant American cousins.
Until a couple of weeks ago, our English equivalent was a few damp days off over Easter. The chance of a wet weekend by the sea. Tempers fraying as too many people were thrown together in too close proximity for a day or so too long.
But we’ve had the proper American sunny version this year. A fortnight of near-perfect weather. A glorious wedding watched by the rest of the world. And – for MrC and I – time with our families and time with each other at lots of lovely places.
I doubt we’ll ever have it again during my working life; so many things had coincided to make this happen – an extra public holiday for the Royal Wedding, Easter falling on the last weekend of April and sitting right next to the May Day weekend. And the weather that is normally reserved for the weeks before holidays and gives in to rain as soon as people leave work for the break.
I’ve indulged so much that I have lots of effort to make in putting my diet back on track. I’ve forgotten about work for so long that it will take me a day or so to get back into the swing. But it’s been lovely to have the most perfect just-as-it-should-be Spring Break.
(The picture, by the way, is Lancashire – not Yorkshire – one of our days out).