By the Sea, By the Sea...

So we ran away, for just a little while...

...and very nice it was, too.

It's been  years since the Mister and I spent parts of our expat summers in that glamourous Sodom-on-Sea, Provincetown, and so we decided it was time to venture back north and see what might be seen. Among those sights, lucky us, was the view above, from the terrace of our host, the Retired Adman, who with his usual great generosity offered us his guestroom along with his not inconsiderably charming company.

The good news (and don't worry - at the moment, remarkably, national events aside, there really isn't any bad news) is that PTown is very much the same, at least from a few days' observation, as it ever was. Tea Dance still attracts its thousands, Relish still has the cupcakes of death (served by its proprietor, who has the torso of death), and we even revisited our old pal Miss Dina Martina, whom first we saw some seven years ago almost to the day.

An elongated weekend really isn't enough, but still we managed to fit in a great deal.  For example, the weekend just happened to coincide with (as if the Dina-versary weren't enough) the fourth year since Mr. M. and I made it legal, so we celebrated by heading to the Lobster Pot. There it turned out they had, sitting there in the tank staring balefully at us as we came in, an old gentleman of some 13 pounds, and knowing that, don't you think that really we had no choice? He was delicious, both that night and, the next day, as lobster rolls in the RA's lovely garden.

Oh, and did I mention it was Bear Week? Always good fun, and of course it means that my husband is the belle of the balls, so nightlife was much on the agenda, and it's nice to know that even at my advanced age I can still shake the occasional bootie, if not with the best of them, then at least with the bears (a crowd among whom I'm always happy, as I feel both slim and, comparatively, remarkably youthful).

But somehow the nicest thing about being in Provincetown is just that: just being there. The people-watching is matchless, the atmosphere (both physical - does anywhere on earth have clearer, more glorious fresh air? - and ambient) is glorious, and in general I can't think of a nice place to be come summertime. It's been far too long since we went, and I'm already poking around to see if we can't find ourselves a bolthole for next summer, for at least a week or two.

But now it's back to reality, the whirl of pastel cocktails and thumping oldies (is there anything more blissful than a dancefloor of forty- and fifty-somethings when "Gloria" comes on?) replaced by more quotidian matters. The dog is joyful at our return, and if the piles of laundry are daunting, at least I was bright enough to take an extra day off to deal with domestic matters so that I'm not wholly swamped come Saturday.

So that's our summer treat, and while there may not be anything quite as lavish on the near horizon, it was if nothing else a reminder that we do need, now and then, to mix things up. And even splurge on a cupcake, however much I expect that Kevin-My-Trainer will make me pay for it on Sunday morning...