Did I mention that I’m slumming it on Hamilton Island for the next week?
Don’t feel bad for me – sometimes a girl just has to suck it up and do what a girl has to do, and I’m prepared.
Apparently it’s only going to be 25 degrees, though, and unfortunately the Australian mens Olympic swimming team are there, training, at the same time as us and HAVE to practise in our pool in budgie-smugglers
The Princess is spitting because the minute she spotted the suitcases, it dawned on her that she will be spending the next week in the company of DOGS!
Meanwhile, I’ve painted my nails, made several last ditched attempts to lose a few kilos in the block’s tiny gym and drunk more wine than usual to get my tolerance up for the trials of the week ahead.
Did I mention that my father, who we are sharing our holiday with, puts me in the shade when it comes to familial alcoholism?
Kurt is coping reasonably well with the impending change and has only asked me twenty-eight times in the past hour what time we are leaving in the morning. His bag has been packed for two weeks.
The old man is depressed at the thought of spending a week in the company of his father-in-law, whom Kurt takes after in a spookily clone-like way.
There will be many stories to bring back to you, upon our return – of that I have no doubt.
NC is bidding farewell to NB tonight, unconcerned that she hasn’t packed, it is the night before we leave, the state of her bedroom gives the cockroaches no challenge whatsoever whilst we are away, and her mother is an anxious mess.
I have warned the muffin top to be on best behaviour in my tankini, I have told my liver to man the fuck up and I have told the kids that if they dare eat with their mouths open in front of their grandfather I will remove them from our will.
The Princess continues to eyeball me with a distinct look of betrayal in her big brown eyes.
Holidays bring out the best in dysfunctional families. I’ll keep you posted either here – if I can manage the stretch from cocktail to keyboard – or on my Facebook page.