Inspiration comes....finally!

Wow, they say a holiday is as good as a change, or a haircut or something. Whatever the adage is, I have just got back from two glorious weeks in Cyprus and boy do I feel better for it! I was actually excited about coming home as I had so many ideas for things I want to do when I got back.
OK, so you expect that first flush of inspiration to wane slightly when the reality hits home that the UK has not had a summer, is not hot and lovely like Cyprus, is not full of friendly faces and is not, I repeat not somewhere that I can kick back, laze on the beach or by the pool and sip mojitos. In short, it is back to reality and reality bites!
Having said that, for some unknown reason, I am still on the holiday high. I have been swimming at the gym, I have been helping out with the local community (yes indeed!) and I have made sure that every night, me and the old fella sit down at the table to eat (a la Cyprus and most Euro families - it really is just us coach potato Brits who lounge in front of Eastenders gawping while our pie and chips grown cold) and amazingly, we have also managed to squeeze in a salad with every meal. Not bad.
I was wondering what was the source of my inspiration? What kicked my hiney into action? Then I realised. I had spend a good deal of my hol with my nose in a raft of women's mags. I now know the best 10 ways to keep my man from straying, how to perfect Cat Deely's skincare routine and get that LA glow. Bah!
It's all lies...How can I maintain this perfection? How can one as flustery and spontaneous as me - someone who cannot decide on anything and when I do, I instantly regret said decision - ever keep up such a facade?
So now, as I talk myself out of my inspired mood, and the lettuce grows floppy in the fridge, I realise, in that moment. I'm British, not Cypriot. Not a Euro lovely. Sod it, I'm off to put my pie in the oven.