When my spawn were smaller, exciting forthcoming events were measured not in days or weeks, but in ‘sleeps’. So rather than saying ‘Christmas is only two weeks away’, Stig and TMBK would say ‘Only fourteen sleeps ’til Christmas!’ This is a tradition that’s stuck with us through the years, and because we’re used to it I sometimes forget that other people aren’t. Hence the rather bemused expression on my friend’s face today when I told her ‘Only nine sleeps to my holiday’…
‘Tis true, though. Nine more sleeps before I cram myself into that EasyJet seat, before I try to discreetly ask the flight attendant for a seatbelt extension, which she will bring and wave above her head whilst she tries to remember which porker asked for it, and before I succumb to temptation and shell out the equivalent of a months rent for a half-tube of Pringles.
“Oh this year I’m off to Sunny Spain, y Viva Espana!”
And, dammit, I need this holiday! Over the last week I’ve had the pressure piled on at work (the ‘real’ job, not the fun one), Stig hit 14, and oh boy did it show, and my mother had a mini-stroke. It never rains but it pours, huh? Still – nine sleeps until the phones go off, the micro-bikini goes on (that bit’s a joke, by the way, I don’t think the people of Spain have been anywhere near bad enough to deserve that kind of punishment) and I do absolutely nothing for a whole, blissful week.
Bring it on!