So the dust has finally settled and I've even got round to unpacking all our boxes which have been littering the hall and workroom since we got back home on Monday. Of course the workroom does still look like the set of 'Armageddon and the Four Riders of the Apocalypse' so no change there then.
I've been easing myself back into work mode, slowly and carefully, aided and abetted by the odd glass of something cheering. The evenings are lighter for longer and all the signs are that winter is over and spring is well and truly sprung.
So, new ideas, new plans, new projects have been swirling round in my head like a primordial soup, full of interesting organisms, which may or may not evolve into fully fledged life forms.
Of course there are some pressing concerns, such as preparation for the two vintage toy workshops I'm doing for Kensington Dollshouse Festival.
Not to mention the end of the tax year this Saturday, which means I have to spend 3 days submerged in drifts of paperwork, completing our end of year accounts.
Plus there is the small matter of my 50th birthday later this month, for which I am anticipating at least three weeks of celebrations.
I have requested a birthday party, a proper one with balloons and stuff. In all of my nearly 50 years I have only ever had one proper birthday party.
This was when I was 8 years old. It was held at my grannie's house, but I had to be taken home early, in tears, after a fat boy fell on me. I probably suffered birthday post-traumatic stress for the intervening 42 years, for I have never since experienced the desire for a party.
However, apparently 50 is the new 40 so a party is practically compulsory.
In the midst of all this birthday euphoria, we mustn't forget that it will be small dog's second birthday on Friday. Last year she had a proper doggy birthday party but this year she will be celebrating quietly at home.