Packing the Cat & Other Holiday Pleasures

I have been warned not to write a blog about when I'm going to be away as it's an open invitation to burglars.

Apart from the fact that I've got nothing at home worth pinching, we've got good neighbours who know when we're not here, plus our walls are paper thin [1 brick]. Sometimes it's like being in the same house, conversations aren't even slightly muffled. We've even had to move our bed because our neighbour on one side told our neighbour on the other that she could hear things! [this had to be her imagination].

My cat has gone AWOL, she is most untrusting, I can't understand it, but she wasn't ever so pleased about coming home last time, I caught her completely unawares & she seems to think that I was cheating somehow.

When we arrive at our caravan aka the manor, two of our friends will be installed as they've already set off. By this time tomorrow, one of them will be on his way back home having left behind his wife. This is a mixed blessing - terrific for him, slightly less so for me. I will need tranquilizers & painkillers in vast quantities.

There is shopping to be done! - We have a couple of favourite shops where we can spend an entire afternoon in the changing rooms, or in my case, walking backwards & forwards to the changing rooms with the same things in different sizes for madam to try on, in other words I'm just a glorified shopping assistant!

Madam also has a mobility scooter to whizz about on, so has her hubby & ahem, he leaves it for me to play on when he goes home. This causes much hilarity wherever we go, mainly because in the absence of obvious brakes on the scooter I have a habit of using my feet to stop; instead of simply letting go of the handle.

This is not advisable, as
1 - it hurts
2 - your bag & cardi that are stowed away in the front basket end up shooting over your head.

Still, it amuses those that witness it.



The best way of describing us is as 'recycled teenagers'. We constantly moan about the youth of today that whizz around the car parks, then race up & down the sea front at Skegness. They have their blacked out windows fully open so we can hear their music that goes bump, bump bump, only to realise that we're guilty of exactly the same thing, but in a much smaller 'twice around the flower bed' kind of way, with indicators winking, lights flashing on our heads, [oh, that may just be me] & of course singing.

Last time we did the above trip early one evening, Madam was quite determined to buy some chips, hungry or not.

"Do you want some chips?"
"No"
"Fish?"
"No"
"Pie?"
"No, I'm not hungry"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes... Oh by the way, you've got dog poo on your right back wheel"
"Oh have I?... Well never mind, I'll wipe it off with me chip paper on our way back"

We had chips...