Home Bird

Home Bird

And so as I pack my suitcase for the first week long actual holiday I have had in more than twenty years (sad but true), I am all of a quiver about what a person does when she is spirited away from her usual routines and plonked down on the rainy shores of Whitstable. What if I can't relax until the day before we are due to drive home? What if I get stir crazy and drive the entire family crazy in response? What if I love holiday so much I find real life all kinds of dull there on after?

This is the problem with being a home bird. Sometimes a well-meaning family takes it in to their collective head to make her fly! And ooh how she gets her feathers in a twist when they do...

I mean really: fancy forcing me into a lovely little cottage at the seaside when BBC Two is finally airing Life In Squares!  (What if I don't like the furniture or can't sleep because the pillow isn't moulded to the exact shape of my silly head?) Imagine insisting that I down laptop and pick up bucket and spade! Do they not understand what they are wishing upon their own heads? Don't they know that there is a law against self-employed people going on holiday? What if there is no wi-fi (shoot me now)? There will be no holding my natural nowtiness in! This is a woman scared of oysters and averse to paddling. A woman who gets weird if she is forced to eat relentlessly because her tummy goes on strike when she is forced to be away from the sanctity of her own bathroom! A woman who might just run a little wild in the teeny tiny little seaside shops and boutiques rumoured to line the streets! A woman who may miss man and dog so much she packs up her little red patent leather bag and thumbs a lift home!

It's a worry. In fact I can't help feeling sorry for said assorted family. I suspect the only solution to solving a problem like Alison, is to pickle me in red wine and insist I enjoy myself.

Wish them luck won't you?