And on the 8th day, God made bank holidays. And it is only a wise Man (or woman, for that matter) that snoops through the peephole of the future, concluding that paupers and pimps alike must be granted days of rest in order to continue operating as fully functional humans. Here's hoping that you were able to bask in the ambience of a blissful four day rest. I know I did. I also know that on one of his days off, God took a moment to bless me with the presence of an 'Aunty Kristine' - presumably this was the God of granted wishes. No, I don't just use my blog to shower family members with unwarranted praise. Having stumbled through the front door at some point in the latter half of a tiring bank holiday Monday, I was greeted by a casual 'I've left some Chanel boots out there for you...'
Come again, sorry? Cha-whatnow? CHANEL? Breathe Anna, take a breather. Yes, to my delight, these quilted slices of delight were sitting by the telephone table, concealed by a duty-free bag as unassuming as a chocolate covered almond - but not just any almond, but the juiciest, sweetest of almonds. For me? I was forced to repeat by an unbelieving doubting Thomas type devil's advocate on my shoulder. Yes, for you, she confirmed. Well now, that is one heck of a bank holiday surprise. What did I do to deserve them? My only guess is that I must be ranked pretty high in the league of great nieces.