I was told recently that if you want to achieve your dreams, you need to have your thoughts in order by having a five, ten and fifteen year plan.  Given my age and stage of life, the fifteen year plan would pretty much reflect where and how I want to live out my dreams, for the duration of my life.

Given that only the good die young, I am pretty sure that this means my fifteen year plan will be the one that keeps me going for a very long time.  In other words, I had to make it truly good.

So with this in mind, I set about planning.  Given that I am truly clear of thought after a glass and a half of my favourite tipple, I made sure the house was quiet, the glass was full, and there was plenty of ice in the freezer.  Warm white wine just does not work for me.

My five year plan was easy, and very boring.  Be financially secure, still live in Johannesburg, educate my daughter, and do not fall pregnant.

My ten year plan was slightly better – educate my daughter, be based in Johannesburg but have a quaint beach house I can call my holiday home in the Eastern Cape, travel overseas and drink champagne from sun up to sun down, do not fall pregnant.

But my fifteen year plan was really the one that filled me with a huge shudder of excitement.  It is as follows – as I will have educated my daughter by then, I will be free to base myself outside of Southern Africa.  My favourite country aside from this one has always been, and will always be, France.  So there we are – it’s off to France I shall go.  The South of France is my most treasured part of that country, and I have always coveted the idea of buying a stone house with shutters, with a view of the French hills, somewhere along the Tour de France route.  Of course, by then I will have sorted out my life savings, so I will be able to write full-time (heaven help us all).

I was as proud as punch – my five, ten and fifteen year plan completely sorted.  However, I was not finished – the best, as they say, was still to come.

We all know I am not very good at long-term relationships, well, let’s re-phrase – I am brilliant at getting into them, but staying in them – not so hot.  The French are fond of their brief encounters, and I am fond of many French things, such as their wine (of course), their cheese, their olives, their baguettes, their croissants, their porcini mushrooms, their truffles, and last but not least, their kisses.  Eureka, I found it, the perfect solution for me.

I will learn the art of discretion, and I will befriend the local wine farmer for a bit, the local porcini mushroom farmer for a while, then the local baker, olive farmer… and so we go on… you get the picture.  I will be kept in company, without having to marry anyone, and better than that, I will be kept in wine, mushrooms, bread and cheese.

Of course, when it is Tour de France time, I will be busy as far as the locals are concerned, so that I can spend my days on the side of the twisting roads, watching out for the yellow jersey, and not having to call home and tell anyone where I am and what time I will be home.  Bliss, pure bliss, especially for a free spirit such as myself.

The locals will be happy as they too will not be required to marry me, and they will be entertained by my endless stories and tales of times gone by, and dreams by then currently being fulfilled.

I looked up and found the bottle finished, and the plan – perfected.

And so, the moral:  I have my plan, which means I have begun to pave my personal pathway to my dreams; and until then, there are really two things I should be focusing on – learning French, and not getting pregnant.