We are off to London today.
How excited am I? Nothing, but nothing beats the excitement of a week in London for me. I know there are a million places in the world that are on people’s bucket lists, and should I ever make it to any of them, I am sure I will love them all dearly, but London is the city of my heart. I cannot explain how it feels to be there, except that it feels like home, but home that you are delighted with, and not home that you throw a blanket over and hope nobody notices the spreading stains in the corners.
I have my A-Z. I have my Oyster card. I have four million pieces of paper that are printable tickets for all the lovely things we will be getting up to while we are away. I have managed to bag three tickets for Noel Fielding’s gig tonight in an extraordinary stroke of luck. I am praying with all my heart that my luck holds and two more arrive in my lap somehow, some way, today so that we can all go and see him. If the Internet would keep its fingers crossed for me I would be most grateful.
Having told you how excited I am, the fact remains that I am typing this in my pyjamas, I have packed literally nothing at all, and there are still five thousand things to do before we leave at lunch time. There is nothing like cutting it fine.
We will pull it off. We always do. I am never a fan of packing two weeks before you go anywhere. It scares me, being that efficient. I prefer the drama of a frantic running about with scribbled lists praying that all will be well, and all manner of things will be well. It has never let us down in the past.
Well, except for that time we went to North Wales and Jason and the children forgot to put my luggage in the car.
But it was all perfectly packed when I got home, and I really hadn’t forgotten anything. Except the luggage in its entirety. I do feel that if you’re going to make a mistake with regard to your travel plans, you might as well make a ruddy big one.
It just remains for me to give you a brief domestic update before I fly:
Tiberius went to tortoise bed and breakfast yesterday. The man who boarded her was incredibly helpful. He, a) told us she was a girl (go girl power), and b) told us that she was too small to hibernate this year, which is one huge worry off my shoulders already.
The tiler finally came, after weeks of delay. To be honest, he was worth waiting for. He was polite and efficient. He worked ceaselessly, and apologised for taking a fifteen minute lunch break at three in the afternoon. He voluntarily put down dust sheets and did all the messy jobs outside. He tidied up after himself, and remembered mine and the children’s names. Not only that but he did not do that thing which I have experienced in the past with some tradesmen, by simply not talking to me at all, because I am a woman and what do I know? Top marks all round. He has done a wonderful job of the shower floor. Plus he fixed all the damaged grouting in the rest of the bathroom, and reaffixed the sink to the wall, which was coming adrift because the person who installed it only used silicon gel to fix it. I now have a totally revamped, albeit slightly dusty bathroom. Top marks.
Barry the painter is having a difficult job this week. It has tipped it down in torrents for large parts of the week. He has under coated the door with great aplomb, but has not been able to come and gloss it yet. He hopes to appear on Saturday morning, whereupon my trusty parents, who are house sitting for us, will let him in, and my dad will talk to him about carnival glass while he makes my door a shiny dark blue colour, much in the manner of a certain famous police box.
My garden needs serious TLC. It is not liking this weather, and neither am I. I have decided to ignore it until the children go back to school and then work some kind of green fingered magic on it to restore it to loveliness. Either that or buy plastic shrubs and cheat.
Right. I need to go and wrestle the shower curtain into submission so that granny and grandad can experience the nirvana of a newly tiled shower when they come to take over the domestic reins. I could be gone for some time.