Daydreaming, of a Holiday before it Happens

Nothing like ramping up the ol' pre-holiday fever, whilst driving along in, close to, 50degC temperatures, staring out at sand, sand, dust & sun.

In this final run-up to our trip, I have been daydreaming about all the things I am looking forward to during our upcoming trip.

It feels like it adds days to our holiday, which is a jolly thing.

I have distilled them down thus:

NOT being in 50degC temperatures & being away from the sand, dust & sun. 

Just for a bit.
And what is going on with the kabillion% humidity these last few days??!

NOT having to steer with just the tips of my fingers. 

Tough call this, hands welded to a burny, roasting-tin-hot steering wheel OR everyone in here dying in a fiery ball of flames.

Trees

oh, the Trees.

To save me repeating myself, you can see last year's Hug a What Now? post.

"Gorgeous, lush green big OLD trees.  Juicy, rich trees. Rounded, friendly leaves, not spiky, resentful & tense with the effort of staying alive"

 Suffice to say, brace yourselves, Trees.

The chance of some Welly action

Again, things won't have changed since last year's Her Soul Yearns for a Welly

Seriously, Glorious Sunshine can get stuffed, I need me some rain.

Family

Being with Family. The family that have known me since I began. The family with whom the British half of me shares real history.

Family that have stories that I keep meaning to write down so they don't get lost.

Family that I have known since THEY were born.

Family that I sadly, only ever see on these trips, but who are no less important to me because of it.

Nothing lifts the spirits
like crossing the bridge and
finally spotting this sign
(& now, cue panic-scrabbling for the toll fare)

Wales

Yes, Wales.
Wales feels like home in the UK now.
Wales = Family too.
Wales is very special to our family.

Love Wales.



Food

The bread. The chips. The crisps. The bacon, cheese and mushroom pastries.  Basically, the carbs of Britain.

Supermarkets

Even if they flummox me with their ever-changing technology - Self-Service Counters this is the year you will not intimidate me.

Rows and rows of alcohol. Just sitting there. Waiting for me to purchase, no limits, no judgement.

The Colours

The Greens.  The Yellows. The Blues. And, yes, the Grey.

The Driving

So orderly. So well-mannered. Trust me, relatively speaking it IS Orderly & well-mannered.

See you on the M4, Purple-faced Man. 

The Radio

ahhhhhhhhhhhh, hello again BBC Radio 4 & 5Live. And all you others.
Live, and in context.

The Bookshops

I can and will spend a fortune in bookshops.

Books bring me the Happy. 

And, the anxiety of overweight suitcases.

 

The Coming Back To Your Own Home again
Love that. However, obviously, it is always tinged with some sadness.
But it is a marvellous thing nevertheless.
All your own stuff, your pets, your car, catching up with the Here Friends - that is all worth looking forward to too.

THINGS I AM LESS EXCITED ABOUT

Flying.

Don't love it. Never loved it. Best not dwell on it.
Packing

Packing sucks. There is nothing more to be said on this.

Petrol prices

Boring Dubai expat moan but ...... OUCH. Best not dwell on it.

The Indigestion

(see above, Food) No matter, a fistful of Rennies and I am good to go again.

Those Extra Kilos

Thanks for nothing, British Carbs and my greatest love/foe of all ..... Fish & Chips.
Running out of time 
And not getting to see all the people that I would like to.

Feeling bad that we cannot travel the length & breadth of the country

A common complaint for many of us, I know.
It boils down to this - Try to do it all, ruin what is supposed to be a holiday.

The Leaving Bit

Without a doubt, the very worst bit.

but also (see above, The Coming Back to Your Own Home again)

The Calm is nearly here

Just a few more days till the schools are out & Dubai shuts down.

Never thought much about it but, until fairly recently, the Life Punctuation Point known as:

"End of School / Summer Holidays" that dominated my world for so long, was dead to me.

But now, behold, the Resurrection!

I am a Phoenix, thrust back into the world which is dominated by the School Year.

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Since that heady Summer when:

the jeans were still 501s,









and tights were still 50 denier.




When our boots were Biker & the trainers, Adidas Gazelles or Sambas.

 AND ....... when that University coughed up that Degree so ferally clawed into existence laboriously achieved

....................................... the doors to 8-10 week holidays slammed SHUT!

For the next 15ish years, holidays were limited to 2-3 weeks A YEAR!!!

Pretty tough going when you live in a different country to your family, it has to be said.  My Dad put it into perspective though by reminding me that when he first went overseas, he didn't return home for 3 years!!!

Let us pause a moment and think about that.

Yeesh.

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But, now I have a kid.  Things are different.

My life is back to being punctuated by School-Events (bloody Christmas concerts, sodding Dress-up Days, Leaving Presents for Teachers, school photos, holidays blah blah blah).

Especially the Summer Holidays.

Especially in Dubai.

It starts around April/May, people start announcing they will be leaving. Hate that.  See Goodbyes Suck

Also, every conversation seems to take a "So, what are your plans for the Summer?" turn.
It is just a given that you will be going away.

'Where' and 'How Long For' are the only variables.
Some people literally, are on their way to the airport as the school gates close & stay away for, like a bazillion weeks.

And this is what I have noticed, for those of us who largely spend the bulk of the Summer here in Dubai, when we find someone else doing the same, there is a Comrade In Arms air of mutual respect that blossoms. A nod of respect.
Nice one.
We are in this together.

During the non-parent years, I delighted in the quiet roads of the Summer & the general calm that settles over Dubai.
I still do.
50+ deg heat notwithstanding, I like Dubai in the Summer.

Holiday (Summer) 2013 - The Crime Spree that never was

Well, I can't fathom it.

I don't mind admitting defeat.  I don't.  I just don't get.

First, Tesco's Self Service Checkouts blew my mind ........ and then, I found out about Waitrose's "QuickCheck" scanners.

Mental.

All of it.

As a matter of interest, any of you been in Tesco at Fforestfach, Swansea over the past 4 weeks?

If so, you might have spotted me giving those Self-Service Checkouts some of my best Paddington Bear stares.

I can assure you I have done some of my best work vis a vis the Stern Look.

Let me explain, to the uninitiated, how these all-seeing, mind-controlling monstrosities work.

You take your basket of, say, 8 items. You scan 8 items.
It asks you how bags you need.  You tell It.
You finish scanning.  You pay the Thing.
You leave. With your 8 items.

Now, here's the thing.
HOW does It know you didn't have 9 items in your basket but, because you are an evil genius, you have *gasp* .......*whispers* .... not scanned the 9th item.  Opting instead (WARNING: those of a nervous disposition look away now) to put it straight into your bag.

And, HOW does that Thing know you haven't taken 4 bags (having led It to believe you took just the one).  One of you and one each for your 3 friends, who are in on this Oceans Eleven scam.   Or who don't want to donate 2p per bag to Children In Need, Snails with Asthma or whatever.

In. Sane.

And then, Waitrose went one louder with its Quick Check scanner.

Now, wait for this, the QCS encourages you to, AS you make way around the shop, to scan your FreeRange Eggs and then POP THEM STRAIGHT IN YOUR BAG and then, pay for the cumulative amount recorded on your scanner at the end.

No feverish packing at a till, whilst juggling cards.  All done.

But again, it seems to me that it would be really easy to just squirrel away an unscanned item, or two.

Should you have a Faganesque inclination.

Which I don't.


I am prepared to stand corrected but I am wondering whether these systems work because,
a) there is faith in the General Public's genuine code of trust OR
b) is it a case of playing on GP's sense of paranoia or its fear of public exposure, in a supermarket, of being a Bad Egg.

The Infallible Duo of a Catholic upbringing and one of the original Tiger Mums has put me in possession of a disportionate guilt complex re the breaking of rules and has rendered me incapable of telling lies (white or otherwise) to authorities.

 (NOTE: elaborate ruses to sneak cans of beer OUT of Sandance, or The 7s don't count, cos that is a stupid rule.  And I paid for them.  I'm not leaving paid-for beer. Ain't gonna happen.)



To clarify:
I can withold information if someone has asked me to keep something confidential BUT ask me a direct question, like:

AT THE CINEMA "Madam, have you got contrabrand English Breakfast tea in a travel mug, in your bag?"

Voices in the Head: "Say no, you dosy cow. Say no."

Me: Yes.

Hopeless.