Forgive me for the Americanism, but none of the other word combinations worked.
B and I planned a getaway for this coming weekend months ago. We thought we’d have to cancel it but it turns out that it fits nicely into the bit of time we have before the treatment starts.
So, tomorrow we’re packing up our sun hats and swimsuits and heading off on a summer holiday to… Wales.
Ok, we’ll be packing waterproof jackets and umbrellas instead of the above. It’s going to be less like this:
and more like this:
The main reason we’re going to Pembrokeshire is to see the puffins. I’ve been fascinated by puffins since I read Enid Blyton’s The sea of adventure as a child.
B has eaten one on a trip to Iceland, where it is a delicacy. I’ve advised him to keep that fact to himself.
Seeing the puffins will involve taking a ferry to Skomer Island, then walking around amongst the seabirds for hours on what is essentially a big rock with no shelter or facilities whatsoever. So you can see the appeal.
When we planned this trip I saw myself in the passenger seat on the long drive to Wales – chatting to B, berating the satnav and generally being my usual irritating self. Now, of course, it will be me in the driving seat. I don’t mind as long as there is no flooding or torrential rain and all of the roads are passable. In Wales, this cannot be guaranteed.