Why is it that the mostly-beige contents of your fridge feel so much fancier when wrapped in brown paper, popped in a picnic basket and eaten under the shade of a tree? Or is it the chilled wine accompanying the bread and cheese that artificially make them seem so? Either way, sun, sandwiches, Saugvinon, and sitting on a pretty picnic blanket, you'll find no complaints from me.
I love this time of year.
Summer tunes, the smell of sun cream, extra freckles, sandals over socks, and sitting down to dinner outside and praying that the big black cloud just about visible on the horizon passes us by.
Yes, when they weather offers up an opportunity to dine outdoors, I'm going to grasp it, even if it means wearing several layers and being prepared to quickly gather everything up and run indoors.
Last weekend, I was overcome with a touch of post-move fatigue. It's been a crazy couple of months. Packing, moving, unpacking, sorting, shopping, school holidays, more sorting. It seems to have been relentless.
I realised that I'd had enough when the thought of having to choose ceiling lights for the living room made me want to cry. And I live for those kind of decisions. Selecting new things for our home? Yes, please!
But I gave - and am continuing to give - myself a bit of a break.