A good holiday is days out walking, or days spent sitting in the garden reading and drinking wine, or mornings in bed sleeping, or making love, or hours spent sitting doing nothing.
Two visits to the dentist in two days isn’t a good holiday. Trashing around garages trying to buy a replacement for my little VW isn’t a good holiday. Especially when my mouth is still numb from the novocaine.
And in spite of having a couple of days annual leave, this place is still a mess. There’s paper, electronic gadgets, books, old DVDs, empty biscuit packets and walking gear littering every flat surface, as far as the eye can see.
Plus Starlight isn’t speaking to me as I made a fuss of Alfee, Jamie T’s pug, when they came to visit yesterday.
On the up side, Jackson has agreed to be my personal trainer. Not sure how much fun that will be, but it should get me fit. Or in traction.
Right. Off to the garage to negotiate. Then to Smiths for a big notebook. Not a good holiday.