A moving story
Grandad September 23rd, 2011
Today is always the second worst day of the holiday.
Packing day.
Today we pack and try to clean the house. The latter is always a problem, and I always have trouble getting Herself to do it properly.
Tomorrow [the worst day] we load the car and hit the road. We have an overnight stop in Caen, and while I know they have the Interweb there, I have a problem with adapters – I don’t have any. So you probably won’t hear from me then.
Sunday we mooch around Cherbourg and then board the ferry. The ferry has Interweb but you have to pay through the nose for it. You definitely won’t hear from me then. We should be home sometime around Monday afternoon, God and bribable custom’s officers willing. I’ll probably be too knackered to use the Interweb so you may not hear from me then.
There are a few things I am looking forward to about going home.
The main thing is greeting Sandy.
Then there is my armchair with its personalised arse shaped indent which makes afternoon naps so cozy.
Playing tennis with Sandy.
I’m also looking forward to just being in my own place where I don’t have to worry about nagging Herself to keep it tidy.
I suppose I have to include the family?
Playing chess with Sandy.
An Interweb connection that doesn’t suffer from PMT.
Having a bit of craic down the pub.
Decent tea bags.
Did I mention Sandy?
What will I miss?
The warmth. It’s building up to midday here and the sun is cracking the rocks. Beautiful. It’s going to be a real scorcher. Again.
Driving. I’ll miss the excellent road system and the almost complete lack of traffic. We were in a fairly big town yesterday and didn’t get stuck in traffic at all, simply because there wasn’t any.
The water pressure. I swear I could fill an Olympic swimming pool in five minutes flat from the pressure here.
The boulangeries. Fuck but this lot know how to bake bread and delicious wee savories.
To be honest, the only reason we are starting back tomorrow is because I have the ferry booked and paid for.
I suppose there is always next year?
- Holidays
- Comments(9)
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My dream always is to reach the ferry port at Ouistreham and say, ‘Ah, feck it’, and turn the car southwards.
I feel for ya GD. Me, the packing day is worse than the moving day. Once I am actually travelling I get to enjoy it. Particularly the water part.
i’m looking forward to you being home and more bitching blogging about whats going on tbh i’m a bit too jealous of the holiday to not delight in you returning
Ian – Please don’t put ideas like that in my head. I will be very sorely tempted.
TT – In the middle of the pack at the moment. You’re right about tomorrow. I love driving here and could do it all day. It’s just that I’ll be heading in the wrong direction.
Cat – Do I not deserve a little break? With all the hassle I get here, I need time to relax. And I did my little bit over the last three weeks to spread a little of the sunshine?
I can understand “packing” prior to going “on” holiday but why the flying fortnum and mason would you want to “pack” to go home, when I go home I “stuff” things away into any bag, nook or cranny. On arrival, back at Harris towers, the missus waves her magic stick and it’s all folded and back in the drawers ready for “packing” the next time a holiday is required.
piece of piss.
now i feel bad and hang my head shamefully for my selfishness
But what about all that bloody lovely WINE GD? Surely you’ll miss that. Fukkit I would.
Patrick – I don’t give a damn what she calls it just so long as she gets it done. I do the important jobs like driving, and she does all the rest.
Cat – Don’t feel bad. Not everyone can be as magnanimous as me.
Slab – Wine is all very well but the time comes when there is a craving for a good solid, honest to God pint of the black stuff. Anyway, I’m bringing enough back to float a battleship.
Glad to hear it GD, Any spare?