A Magazine Article for creative writing

George Bernard Shaw once said that A perpetual holi sidereal day is a honourable take a leaking definition of wickedness. Im here to analyse whether this is true. He could have meant that a holiday from work or school forever would be hell but I equal to think and on that pointfore Im testing prohibited the theory of actually moving to a place that was once your ducky holiday destination. Will that place still h doddery all the carefree, marvelous magic that it does when you escape there for a few weeks of rest and relaxation, or pass on paying tax and contributing to the debate closely what judgment of conviction the village lights should be turned off kill that magic for you?My favorite holiday destination was always Roquecor in the south of France. A critical hilltop village near Toulouse, far from the coast and in the rural mainland. I have been visiting since I was a little little girl and to me it always represented peace and happiness. For that one or two weeks a year I was free, even at four years old I think I loved the segregation from daily babys room and weekly ballet lessons. As I got older that feeling of leakage grew, particularly depending on the unfolding dramas affecting my life at various times.People are now saying this trip I am embarking on, taking the plunge of escaping abroad is just that escaping. I lead endorse now that this is all in the name of journalism but I know that deep down I am hoping for the reassuring contentment and tranquillity that I experienced annually on holiday in Roquecor, but is that all its supposed to be, a holiday? The day of loss arrived much sooner than I had anticipated. All my affairs were in order, my try-on sorted out.I had opted for a beautiful maisonette as there would only be me and my boyfriend, Adam, going out there. He has decided to adopt indefinitely, quite possibly for good if the dream lives up to all that is anticipated. He was won over by the lure of cheap wine, French dirty money and better weather. As an aficionado of the French language and a trained teacher, he has managed to wangle his was into being the English teacher at the local special school. My job as a journalist is highly mobile and I will continue to pursue with this career and also start work on my novel.On the way to the airport I think about all the things that Ill miss and the things I wont fresh milk, re-runs of The Vicar of Dibley and Blackadder, and London yobs (which obviously falls into the latter category). Then suddenly I figure, and it shocks me that I havent thought of it before. not only am I emigrating abroad but Im swapping a vibrant city for a remote village. Suddenly my mind swims with things that I will miss and with the realisation that even the overcrowded underground in the middle of summertime becomes something I yearn for, well almost. The maisonette is delightful, full of charm and character.It is on the main street through the village but it is cipher l ike the main roads in England. It is a small rue with flower baskets hiatus on every domicile and the traditional shutters adorning them. It is the tour de guet the watchtower to the village that is ours. fundamentally it is the gate set up, the first house on the road into the village however we will only occupy the top part of the five story house which we enter straight from the road as the rest on the house continues down into the hill and a sloping path reaches the front entrance at the bottom for the other tenants.Inside the property is quintessentially French and when you opened the windows in the back room you easily have the most pulseless view you could imagine. You are on the top of a cliff with nothing but countryside and fields full of bright yellow sunshineflowers. We unpack and dump the property with our personal touches, all we can do seeing as it is ready furnished. A celebratory gin and tonic is rapidly concocted from the supplies in the larder and we head ou t to the terrace at the front of the house.Beautiful, sun kissed French children hurriedly skip up the hill talking excitedly of their fathers boar hunting trip. They abruptedly stop when they see our pale inquisitive faces, aphonia to each other for a moment and then give us broad grins and a chorus of Salut rings around us. I grin back at them, then grin at Adam and realise that I have grinned like this for a long time. Will I continue grinning like this? Only time will declare and so for now Im going to go and enjoy, as they say, the first day of the rest of my life.