The rain has arrived. The grey clouds have made the cottage feel dark.
The Camellias, outside the door have rainwater dripping off their leaves.
All day, drip, drip, drip.
The heater is on in the bath room.
I have been hugging a hot water bottle and wearing thick woollen socks.
I have been drinking hot soup and dreaming of sunshine and warmth.
1.00 a.m on Thursday 15th.
I’ve packed a small red case.
1 black swimming costume.
1 red bikini
1 patterned bikini.
The patterned one is so old it looks like those Airtex knickers we wore in the 60’s, the ones that stretched out of shape.
The red one was bought in 2010 when I cashed in my pension to get us out to Costa Rica. I had lost loads of weight – due to the end of GFL – and had bought the red bikini as a testament to my new body. Whilst sunning myself on the terrace, the hammock swinging in the breeze, the palm trees swaying, the howler monkeys howling, the old git looked at me and said.
‘I don’t know who you remind me of.’
I thought it must be Ursula Andress walking out of the waves towards 007.
‘I know.’ he said. I waited…..
‘Who?’ I nudged.
He called me Goosey for the rest of the trip.
So I’m taking Airtex, Ghandi and a black swimming costume that is tighter than a tight pair of Spandex. I should care it’s just me and the dawter overlooking the Atlantic and dodging the hailstones. I understand the Jet Stream is splitting in two and one fingerling is heading straight for the Belariacs.
I have packed my writing notebook, a reading book, a phone charger, a pair of shorts and three other items. I have a plastic bag with my questionable bottles and a little bag with remedies for hangovers, sickness and panic attacks……
How grateful the dawter and I were to be able to get a week away in Lanzafeckingrotty. The constant criticism is the curse of the Western traveller……… The Lava walls were everywhere, the landscape bleak and Barron. The beds too small and the 20X12 room so basic I knocked everything off my pillow side shelf, … Read more