Two and a half weeks spend in the Motherland. In various parts of it. With various warmths. Days spent bicycling on the beach. Spent reading on the porch. Spent on organic frozen yogurt. Enormous amounts of sushi. On happy times with good friends. And the happy, lovely children of good friends.

The hardest parts of last year were sent up on little slips of paper into a bonfire on NYE. The best, planted in the centre of some palms, in a spot chosen by a six year old, who pointed out that the leaves made a heart above it. I'm taking this as a good sign.

Today, baking. The kitchen smells fantastic. Sugar and butter and spices. Heavy cream and wine. And this old The National album, that I've sent round and round all day. Now, to finish up these gougeres, and those cinnamon rolls, and to chill out for the night.

I am so happy to see these days lengthing again. It's amazing the difference it makes; it never did before.

I hope you're all well and lovely.