Heaven knows dear reader when it will be when you read this. It could be years from now as you trawl the Internet, it could be hours from now if my hotel has Wifi but at this beautiful moment I am somewhere in the air at 10am GMT in a plan en route to my annual summer vacation.
I’m wearing my brown sun hat, in some fitted chinos next to the dozing Pete desperate for a pee whilst in that precarious position one finds himself in when flying cattle class to the Greek islands, penned in mid cabin by two trolleys serving pay as you go drinks to people. I see the booze is being purchased. I have been up since 4am, to get on a flight that is 2 hours delayed in departure. I don’t judge those people who are obviously starting their break from the drudgery of working life, but a mid morning sharpeners is not for me. I still have the trauma a passport control, the conveyer belt of cases, getting to our hotel, getting into our hotel and then de-stressing to get
through first. We will then be ready to start our holidays I reckon.
In the last few days I attempted to get a clean lean look by visiting a local beauty salon for a chest waxing. Well, I’m not the sort of person who should do this. Firstly, I have skin more sensitive than filo pastry. Secondly I have the inability to leave things alone. So I was waxed and then raw. The rawness was horrendous. Red, blotchy, bumpy and sore. So what did I do? I ignored advice and moisturised, then I went to Body Pump 12 hours later. Sweat plus hotel body lotion plus very sensitive skin? 3 days later, I’m still all spotty and blocked. Note to self, shave in future. I can cope with that.
This experience has made me very dramatic. As most of my regular readers are friends ( or Ukrainian) you will know exactly what I’m like when I have an epic fail. Toddler-esque, teary, announcing my holiday as dead before it began. Not a great moment for me. But I’m now Mykonos bound, smooth chested, albeit with a few blemishes I’m sure some sun will sort out, ready to hit the bars and beaches with equal vigour.
Work came to an end with little drama. I had to pack up my desk before I left, so my working life was sorted, nonsense shredded, holiday notes typed and on the system, and my desk abandoned. It’s a good feeling knowing there are no concealed time bombs in the in tray. Go team Millward, for once I’m on it.
First experience of Gatwick Airport. Woman on check in was miserable, Pete was particularly surprised by this, but I thought her surprisingly pleasant for someone on the airport frontline. It takes an odd breed of person to work for an airline. At a time where people are looking forward to a great escape, they seemingly look to introduce a modicum of stress as you go about your business. 0.8kg over allowance was too much, we had to shed, but 0.3kg wasn’t. Go figure. But alas, it’s a minor incident in the scheme of things. Cash collected, booze bought, last minute toiletries obtained, breakfast eaten, all without any effort really being required, which was a blessing at silly o’clock in the morning. So here I blog from my tray table, dairy milk being eaten over the prospect of a £4 sandwich. We watched The Adjustment Bureau which I rented for the flight, it passed the time but seemed to lose a bit of momentum right at the end. It was as if the scriptwriter had to end it and then just copped out and said “and then they meet that bloke in the hat again, walk down the street grinning, and the end”.
So what to do on arrival. Pool party was suggested, we’ll see how time pans out, but tonight will hopefully meet up with Marc and Alan, who we met last year, and then head on out to the sights and sounds of the Town. I hope life is treating you well in whatever corner of the world you read this in. Here at 30,000 ft or however high we are, I’m pretty excited!
Blog later folks
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