Skip to main content

Pack up your troubles...

Words from a Bird.  Day 111

So the day has finally arrived...the one where I haul my suitcase from under the bed in preparation for my mini break (this is what I call it, the husband calls it a holiday implying that I will be away longer than I actually am).

It's funny how things change as you get older.  Over the years, my suitcases have ranged in size from one so large that it needed two men to get it in and out of the car and which doubled up as storage for the lawnmower in the winter, to my current one which can sometimes get confused as hand luggage.

When I was younger, I panic-packed, stuffing every piece of clothing I owned into the suitcase, along with shoes to match every conceivable outfit.  There would be jackets, jeans in case it rained, jumpers in case it was cold, and probably even an umbrella.  There would also be a choice of several bikinis (those were the days), four pairs of shorts (this works out at a new pair for every day which is ludicrous), dresses, skirts, trousers and tops....they all made the trip to sunnier climes with me. 

This was done as I had an irrational fear of 'not having anything to wear'.  Of course, we all know that there are no shops in Europe, and if you forget your toothbrush?  Well, you're stuffed.  This strategy of mine always resulted in returning home with a suitcase full of mainly clean, but crumpled, clothes, all of which had to be washed and ironed.  Not pleasant when you're drying out, having drunk enough red wine to keep the Home Counties going for six months. 

I do things differently now.  I work out exactly what I am going to wear each night (huge thanks to the goddess of OCD who makes this possible for me), take one pair of neutral coloured sandals which go with anything, and keep the shorts and swimwear to a minimum (in quantity not coverage you will be relieved to hear...)

This means that I can now fit everything into my small case which is a lot easier to hoist off conveyor belts.  It also means however, that there is little room for 'extras'.

These are what I call the items which you often buy on the days that the sun doesn't shine, when  'shopping' is the only  alternative to a sun lounger. They usually include clothes, perfume, shoes and jewellery.  Last year, I made the mistake of buying lots of 'extras' (five pairs of coloured jeans were the starting point if I remember rightly).  When the day came to pack the case for home, it soon became apparent that there was no way that the zip was going to close on my small case even with the assistance of my sister and Mrs W adding some force.  This called for drastic measures. 

I decided that I would have to take out some of the more unnecessary stuff to get my 'extras' in.  The not inadequate pile left behind in the hotel included all my underwear, a black cardigan which had seen better days, one pair of sandals, my shampoo and conditioner, two mugs and my travel kettle.

It's all about priorities, you see...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I can't stand the rain...

The bloody rain's back then...
I suppose that this is a blessing of some sorts as it means that my hosepipe will get a well earned weekend off, and the flowers won't be looking at me through the kitchen window, wondering whether there will be any chance of me getting off my derriere and giving them a drink sometime before the next millennium.  Talking of watering flowers, I haven't had any feedback from Mrs B next door as to the complete transformation of her front garden while she's been away.  I would imagine that after two glamorous weeks away, that she will have more than enough washing to do, and perhaps hasn't had the opportunity to do a full horticultural inspection as yet.
I finally got round to cleaning Charlie out yesterday afternoon. Armed with a bin liner and some sweet smelling multi surface cleaner, I gingerly opened the door.  Oh dear Lord....it is amazing just how much detritus eight adults can make over five and a half hours, and I soon realised that…

In da club...

Boy was I glad to see the end of this week.  What with the football, the weeping colleagues (just the male ones as the female variety were quite cock-a-hoop) and the incessant watering of myself as well as the allotment, my garden, and a neighbour's garden (a greenhouse, thirty tubs, four cacti, seven bowls of hedgehog water and a scoop of mealworms each day....in the hottest fortnight on record).  Throw into the mix some rather frustrating conversations with someone who shall go unnamed, I was very glad to leave Binland on Friday afternoon.
But there have been good things too.  And isn't that what life is about?  There's no point having good things if you don't have the bad to compare them to.
I spent a lovely two hours with the Mother on Thursday discussing plants, allotments and beetroot, and I'd like to think that the highlight of her afternoon was digging up a couple to take home for her dinner that night. Or maybe it was the contraband tomato I smuggled out …

I'm walking...

Having been knocked flattish by a sore throat and all of its accompanying delights, I was quite anxious as to whether I'd be able to rally for Schnauzerfest yesterday.  I'd pulled out all the stops with cakes and dog biscuits, and was desperate to do my favourite good cause justice.  

But oh happy day... I woke up yesterday feeling quite normal (stop laughing, you know what I mean) and I loaded the car and drove to Wittenham Clumps (yes, it's a real place!) Getting there early with Miss R and Mrs S we gave the dogs a quick walk before all the other walkers turned up.  The sky, which had been threatening an apocalypse, finally decided to show its good side, and the sun shone as we got ready for everyone else to turn up. 

Now I have been doing some serious whistle training with my two for the past month or so.  This basically means blowing a whistle and shaking a bag of cheese cubes, and I was optimistic about finally letting my two off so that they could run free with the res…