Tuesday, 1 March 2011

...And then I came home

Unfortunately, the rule with going away on holiday is that you have to come back. Unlike emigrating when you don't.

So I had to return from Essex and begin my proper life again. Gone are the days of lounging on the sofa watching daytime telly and awfully cheesy chick flicks. For the record, Frank chose 'Titanic', not me. (Frank, your identity is safe so its okay to admit this fact.)
I have eaten my weight (prior to the holiday) in very yummy food and now need an extreme sporting break to burn it all off again. Or perhaps I should just get my larger-than-it-was-before arse down the gym for some cardiac therapy.

Then again, maybe not. Let's face it, I'll set the challenge and not do it, so better not to set it at all. If I lose the jelly bum and matching belly then it will be down to a miracle of  and therefore an even more impressive feat.

But back to the holiday that gave me the jelly layer.

 Five days of welcome bliss. Apart from the rain and slight spring chill in the air. As a female I think I packed my entire wardrobe. Everyone knows that you have to be ready for the day that you need to wear the little black see-through, backless tshirt* you once bought in a boxing day sale because of course it was a bargain... even though it still has the tags in it. The day that you eventually wear this might be on this very holiday.
However packing everything apparently does not stretch to 'packing thick wintery layers'. I forgot these and spent the week wearing Frank's.
 He is now moaning that they now smell of me. Calvin Klein 'Euphoria' and Johnsons triple moisture shower gel - I don't think it's bad enough to whinge about.

N.B I do not own an item of clothing that even partly resembles this (*) description. Thank god. Of course, I am sure it would look lovely on someone. Somewhere. In a dark room.

The beauty of the last day of my holiday was that the sport was on. Three lots of sport to be precise.
Normally I would be the first to huff and puff and compete with the television for Frank's attention. But on this occassion I didn't mind the rugby, cricket AND football. It meant that I could plan our next holiday.
Maybe there is a rule that prevents you from planning a holiday before you have even finished the current one, but I was, and still am, oblivious to it. And what else was I meant to do to to keep myself occupied? I have temporarily banned myself from all online shopping. It is deadly to the Mastercard. So I chopped it up.

So because Frank wasn't really paying attention, I was happily flicking through holiday brochures for the Maldives, Caribbean and Thailand.

Frank, we fly to Phuket in September for an all-inclusive 4* break. Oh and it's on your Mastercard.

[Next time, he'll only watch one game and I get control of the remote!]

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