‘You look like you’ve been in a foreign country,’ said a neighbour to me this morning.
How right she was. We’ve been away for a week.
We’d caught a brilliant spell of weather, cloudless skies and brilliant sunshine, the friendliest people and the best ice-cream.
The single storey cottage we rented was built in the ’30s and converted to an Officers Mess during WW2 for Polish airmen, complete with bar and a sprung dance floor in the living room.
‘The Bungalow’, set in an acre of garden, mowed lawns and gum trees, has views along a wooded valley and a castle ruin down to the sea; a mere 20 minutes walk.
Never mind a ‘foreign country’; it was a delightful step into an almost forgotten past.
You’ll understand that I am forbidden to reveal the exact location of The Bungalow…