Holiday Blues

Anticipation is sometimes greater than reality. I am sure that this must ring true for more than the shaking of dogs leads and ”walkies,” fishermen’s sizes of landing nets, or even a promise from the one you love? It is certainly true for holidays that you wait all year for, that seem to sneak up on you like a Michael Jackson GP on an O2 booking agent and announce at the last minute that you might not only have to give the money back, but it is going to cost you something (anything... well quite a lot) Like the many disappointed booking agents I also had not anticipated for my Parent s wanting their loft boarded, a small garden fallout shelter constructed that claims on the box to be a shed and plethora of assorted boards, posts and rails to be painted, primed and fashioned into a sturdy fence between the us and Jones (try and keep up) who live next door. No I had anticipated a week of leisurely bohemia, flouncing around with a paintbrush and watercolours quaffing bottles of Waxed Bat and talking nonsense. Unfortunately it is the former for me and my colour by numbers kit and bat based wine has remained firmly closed for the time being. Of course the weathers not helped either, offering up that ‘will it, won’t it’ rain that Carol Kirkwood never tells you about. You venture out with an overriding guilt because it’s not really raining into the cold and damp to start some fence painting to be only coming back in within 20 mins because most of your water repellent timber care paint has been washed off by the persistent ‘Yes it will’ rain. After the last few days of this I have now taken to grinding my teeth.