It's half term and Hubbie has kindly taken time off work and we're having some 'family time'. Our son isn't at school yet so I'm not sure why he chose this week - I think he said something about using up all the holiday he has accumulated - but, nonetheless it's a gesture. If I was sending you a postcard it would read thus:
"Day one: Bundled the boy into the car to go out for the day and he spotted a few horses in the New Forest so that was nice. Then spent almost an hour finding the otter and owl sanctuary where Hubbie worked when he was 13 - to be fair he didn't drive then so he's hardly to blame for not knowing the way - only to decide that £20 is a rip off so had a terrible pot of tea and got back on the road. Programmed the sat nav to find a pub with children's play facilities, got here and were told that the online listing is 2 years out of date. Had to do a lot of loud singing to keep the boy awake so that he would still sleep when we got back in the afternoon. Got back opened a bottle of wine and fell asleep by ten.
Can't wait to come home - wish we weren't here xx"
Mum always packed a huge lunch for us all and we'd stop somewhere to eat our chapatis with dhal from a large thermos and complain loudly that we'd rather have 'normal food,' ie. sandwiches. We'd have to eat in the car so the smell wouldn't offend other picnic folk and would spend the rest of the drive holding our overstuffed bellies through turmeric stained clothes. After getting lost a few times we would arrive at a caravan park in North Wales or Devon late at night and try and get the tv to work then go out to find a chippie for the first night's dinner.
Each day we'd faff about all morning and leave after 11 o'clock to get to a tourist destination that would be far too costly for all of us to go in so we'd take some photos of us outside a castle / aquarium / butterfly park and eat some lunch then head back. On one memorable occasion the car was low on petrol and we appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. My parents got more and more batey with each other as me and my brother gleefully sang 'Honiton' to the tune of the Konica commercials because we kept seeing signs for the mythical place that might yield some fuel before we broke down in deliverance country.
Essentially our holidays were predicated on the next meal and how we would get to it. I do try not to be like that, but it's difficult to fight the genetic indian hardwiring that makes me pack enough food for a week before we leave the house.
Tomorrow we're going to go back to what we do best: I'm having my nails done and the boys are going to watch football. We'll eat lunch indoors and I'll meet my friend for dinner and leave a hot meal for Hubbie. I predict it'll be the best day of our holiday so far :o)