So, I have booked my holiday. Finally. I wasn’t going to as I wanted to slim down to a perfect size 6 before I donned on another bikini, but my common sense prevailed and I realised that the size 6 had long ago disappeared as a distant memory.
I love going away though, the excitement of planning what you are going to take with you, buying summer clothes (because you always have to buy some new ones each year, no matter how many sarongs you have). Then there is the packing of the suitcase although as desperate as you are to take it down weeks earlier, you have to wait until at least a couple of days beforehand because you haven’t got room for it in your bedroom! Then there is that lull moment when you’re all ready and waiting for the ride to the airport or the sitting around as it is too early to drive yet. And the shivers – I don’t think I can remember ever leaving the house in daylight; it is always in the middle of the night or the very early hours when the sun hasn’t yet awoken for the day. And each time it is cold. Even in the height of summer, there is always a chill in the air during those lonely hours, and you’re only dressed in something light with a summer jacket as it will be far too hot, hopefully, when you step out of the plane, so braving the chill is par of the course.
The bit I don’t like though is waiting in the airport, not because of delays but because I am a nervous flyer and suddenly being so close to those huge machines brings a heart thumping realisation that I’m going to be in one shortly, thousands of miles above the ground. Yeah…another reason why I’m aware of what time it is as a shot of vodka is having to be replaced by a couple of strong coffees!
But ignoring the endless days and weeks in the air (usually about three hours but seems like a lifetime), we land and my excitement and joy suddenly comes rushing forward and I get the giggles! I think in all honesty they are relief spasms from surviving the journey but I always get them before they turn into huge smiles as we enter arrivals, and even the rigmarole of baggage collection does not waiver my mood.
This year we are going to Majorca, a place called Puerto Pollensa. I love Spain and Greece, adore their landscape, the people and the culture. When I was younger and after my first trip to Spain, I swore to myself that I would one day live there. The hope is still there although somewhat dampened by maturity, responsibilities and fear of the unknown, but I can still envelope myself in that life when I am holidaying.
So the anticipation has now begun, the tickets have been booked, the hotel reserved and the whole experience ready to be had. Now is the time for the fake sun tan research and the exercise bike to be outed, and not forgetting cream for those unsightly stretch marks which, at the moment I’m eyeing Revitol for their stretch mark cream. And then of course all of the summer clothes have to be risen from their winter depths, tried on, allocated to their ‘yes’ and ‘no’ piles and judged as to whether I have been too harsh or the credit card won’t stretch that far to add to the ‘yes’ pile.
The excitement is most certainly set to grow and I feel a new sense of anticipation and happiness that clicking a submit button and booking a holiday brings; if only I could afford to press that button a few more times throughout the year.