Yeah, well. Today is the 1st of August and tomorrow I go on holiday with my beloved husband, adored child and pampered pooches. Quite how I've arrived at my current state of affairs is beyond me. Of course I know that I'm going on holiday - I've washed, ironed, packed, sorted out bunny and fish baby sitting arrangements, got a plant watering (in and out) system under the strict supervision of Jack Next Door but my little old grey cells haven't actually kicked in that I'm going on holiday tomorrow.
I've done all my packing and cleaning and arranging whilst on auto pilot as it were. What's that saying? The flesh is willing but the mind is weak? Or is it the other way round? Anyway. I'm going on my holibobs tomorrow. The cottage has "wi-fi" and David is packing his laptop so expect posts from me about (hopefully) being baked into a nice warm brown by the sun, growing tired thanks to early (not too early) morning walks along the beach and stuffed full of the kind of sweet and savoury fayre sold in the village bakery.