I could be wrong, but I'm guessing it's going to go something like this...
At some point next week the Pig bus will come to a halt in a quiet road in leafy Kent. The pressure of mounting excitement - coupled with ABBA Gold on a loop - will have built up to such a degree, there will be an audible psssssshhhhhtttt as the doors slide open. All children still awake after our long drive will charge into Fran's house, and our holiday will have officially started.
I know myself quite well, and it will be no surprise to me that by 6pm I will have downed the best part of a bottle of champagne. It is also customary for me to have cried at least once within hours of being back with my friends. You may now revise your image of me as cool, calm, collected and gorgeous.
Going back to old stamping grounds is an emotional endurance test that I usually fail. I think I probably get a U (unhappy). As much as I delight in visiting the parks, woods and pubs we loved so much, I also feel sad. As my friends form a low-level pressure campaign for me to move back into my house and have my husband come visit from Heathrow, I start to waver. When I do the old school run and watch my children play so happily with their friends, I have to bite my lip.
Going back puts your new life under the microscope and throws up that terrible question, 'Are you happy?' I'm never sure if that question has an unequivocal answer. At each lunch, after every dinner, after the barbecues and coffees, I will sit in a pensive state, mulling about life. Comparing, contrasting, worrying, hoping; 'Are we doing The Right Thing?'
I'm fairly sure I won't reach a satisfactory conclusion, and I think morale will be hovering around floor level as we cross back into France. I'm fairly sure I will have eaten my body weight in cheddar cheese, chips, vegetarian sausages, curry and anything my Mother-in-Law puts before me.
I will be convinced that my liver is in the final stages of cirrhosis, and I will resolve never to drink again.
We will arrive back home and I'll put exhausted kids to bed. Then I will stand and listen to the silence, before quietly reaching for a bottle of wine. Then I will wake up the next morning, pull myself together and carry on as before.
You see? That's the good thing about knowing yourself quite well; at least you know what's coming.
Farewell lovely readers. I had thought I would resume Pigly duties at some point over the summer.
Then I looked at my, 'List of Guests Visiting Us This Summer'.
The week when there are 6 people camping in the garden, and 10 of us in the house, is going to be especially interesting.
So I don't think I'll be back until September, but I'm sure I'll be wandering into your blogs and leaving those incisive comments you love so well.
And of course, I will still be vainly checking my email for offers that might end in something good like this...
...and failing that, just to answer recipe questions.