Holidays

You overwork something for too long and like The Little Donkey that wouldn’t go, it’s going to start to break. So we have holidays, a time to rejuvenate. Summer holidays are the gold standard of all holidays; often planned in the winter months they become the light at the end of the tunnel; the reward for our hard work, the treat for our children, the time to be a family again.

Summer holidays come laden with myth like memories; the long summer of Seventy Six when according to my romantic memory we spent days and days at Nash Point. Childhood holidays when we were bombing along the streets on our bikes and bursting through the lazy haze that rose from concrete pavements. Teenage holidays when we dressed from head to toe in black and walked the melting urban landscape in unsuitable footwear to sit in a friend’s bedsit and listen to something depressing on the record player.

Summer holidays, when your dad undertook a massive DIY project and your mother washed and ironed and cleaned for days on end, so that when the holidays came there was no washing and ironing to do (Ok we will talk about that later.)

Of course there are also far away holidays, holidays abroad, walking holidays, camping holidays. They are the summer holidays and I am on mine. Right now; this is day one.  

What shall I do with it?

Nash Point, my favorite place in all the world

Cleaning

Yes, I have a cleaning thing. When I stop. When I pause. Everything looks grubby. Sometimes I feel like I can’t operate effectively until every glass is gleaming and every surface is reflective.

Resting

I am hopeless at this. I cannot rest. Last night, as a warm up I tried to watch T.V. and ended up sorting socks. To be honest there was nothing on.

Holidaying abroad

I am the working poor. Nothing more to be said here.

Day Trips

This is a good idea. I have been on a few with my boy and we have gotten lost in the countryside several times. I feel we bonded. He feels mummy has no sense of direction and actually called for help, you know like the scarecrow does when Dorothy falls asleep in the poppies.

Writing stuff

Yes. I want to write stuff. I have several pieces to work on. One is about a dreamer who’s dreams spill out, one is about a child killer, one is about the broken half of a mirror and one is about an incompetent fairy god mother. And there are so many more. Yet it feels indulgent to write when the bathroom needs doing.

The Bathroom

All we need to do here is sand down, gloss and lay the floor. We have had a concrete bathroom floor for over a year. I should be ashamed of myself.

Getting over work and getting drunk.

I have reached such levels of perfection, that it would be a waste of a holiday to work this any further, I should like to drink white wine and listen to Sixto Rodriguez. Again and again.

I could manifest. It’s what sports persons do, a creative visualization, of me winning. So the plan is, to do ironing in the morning, then clean the windows and wash the curtains and finally sit down with the book, with the words and write them just as they should be laid down, as they come out of my finger tips.