We’re (not) going on a Summer holiday…

English: Victorian postbox Second one seen tod...

English: Victorian postbox Second one seen today, on a pebble-dashed wall in Upper Chapel. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Everyone I know is either a) on holiday or b) going on holiday shortly.

It’s the school summer break, see. And the law states that families must ‘vacate’ in some shape or form during this period.

My line is: “I don’t like holidays. I’m frightened of flying, so I’d rather stay at home.” And I’m sticking to it.

(The truth is, I’ve got no-one to go away with, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t, right, because I don’t like holidays and I’m frightened of flying, so I’d rather stay at home. Who wants an Italian piazza when you’ve got a row of pebble-dashed houses to look out onto whilst drinking your vino tinto?)

I probably sound ungrateful. Lots of people don’t have a chance to go on holiday, even if they have a spouse to go with. But the fact is, I don’t give a shit. I’m full of red wine and self-pity tonight, and this blog is GETTING IT.

I don’t want to go to Corfu with a friend. I don’t want to ‘do’ a Haven holiday in Whitby. I want to be doing anything, literally, anything, with my husband and my daughter. Even looking out on a row of pebble-dashed houses together would be peachy-keen.

The ‘holidays’ stretch out before me; a flabby surplus of time. Friends and family are fucking off to have fun with the people they love most in the world. They’re packing suitcases, ulcerating over whether they have enough swimming attire, running to Primark in a panic to get their last-minute lounger-wear.

Me? I’m happy to stay at home, because did I mention that I don’t like holidays and I don’t like flying?

I also love pebble-dash.

14 thoughts on “We’re (not) going on a Summer holiday…

  1. So I gather that means you won’t be booking a trip to Disneyland anytime soon? Remember my offer is open to you, when or if you have enough red wine in you to board an airplane. Is there really a law that says folks have to vacate? Wow! I wish that were true over here…when I was working the boss practically shriveled at mere mention of my possibly wishing to request vacation time off…

    • Well I’m a VERY nervous flyer, tis true, but I’ve a friend who is a hypnotist who has promised to magic it out of me! So the offer remains in the ‘maybe someday’ file!! HUgs xxx


  2. Myself, I love the comfort of home.
    Others may love to get up and roam
    But I love the comfort of home.

    Okay, so the balcony looks out
    Onto a busy motorway
    And the gang members block
    That little passageway.

    But me, I love the comfort of home,
    Inseparable from my sofa
    Like a bee from honeycomb.

    Yes, the chimney stacks
    Blow this way,
    Greying out what could have been
    A beautiful summer’s day.

    But like I said, in the same monotonous tone,
    Why pay for a bed
    When here is one I already own?

    From here I can almost see, almost smell
    The offices in which I nine to five.
    It’s Saturday, fuck the shopping,
    We could go out for a drive.

    And yes, you’re right, my daughter, his clone
    Could do with a change
    But why buy a brush when I already have my comb.

    So how about something shorter?
    A day trip to the hills, kicking through the furze.
    Friday night was mine,
    Sunday will be hers.

    With much love and respect

  3. Coming home again after being away makes it all worth while. Go away, if just for a day! Take the train, and BYOB!

  4. OK so it’s not a daytrip but whenever you fancy it there’s a mahoosive ‘bienvenue’ waiting for you both in the South of France. But I may have mentioned that before… 😉

    • Might take you up on that hinny. Serious, like. Only if I can get there by train though, obvs. And if I come, can we please talk about my husband? I might cry, but that’s OK, isn’t it? XX

      • I can’t think of anything better than talking about your husband. It would be insane not to. Crying is absolutely fine by me, you won’t be allowed to do it alone though. Train is most definitely an option – you made it to Paris, right? So 3 hours on and you hit Marseille. I can probably pick you up from there. September is lovely in our neck of the woods. DO IT.

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