Were the world not so scary, right now I’d be on the countdown to packing my suitcase.
Thanks to Covid last year, I’d to cancel two weeks in Mallorca, with the option to rebook for now. Much as my pal and I were looking forward it, we’d a feelin’ in oor al’ bones the pandemic would still be raging, so got our money back. Just as well.
By now we’d have been totally stressed-oot; frettin’ aboot the cost of tests, the unpredictability of being quarantined there or here and we’d never have submerged so much as half a leggie in the lovely pool lest it was infested with manky virus spreaders.
Oh, to be sitting in the the wee cafe in the square and spot Gorgeous George Clooney croque monsieuring at the next table
Even at the best of times, we’re the most nervous travellers on the planet. My loon always queries why we lash oot on air fares, when we could easily fly to our destinations under oor ain steam.
My mate hasn’t been to her lovely hoosie in Provence in nearly two years. It’s specially galling since recently discovering George Clooney and his fragrant wife have just bought a chateau and vineyard only a pucklie kilometres from her. Luuv it, luuv it.
Oh, to be sitting in the the wee cafe in the square and spot Gorgeous George croque monsieuring at the next table. Or nudgin’ up to him in the queue for a baguette, flutterin’ my couple of remaining eyelashes and gurglin’ somethin’ totally glaiket, like: “I still think of you as Dr Ross from ER.” Snort of laughter. Me, not him.
For now I’m Megabussing off doon the road a bittie
So I’m ditherin’ awa’ wondering whether to book, or not to book anything. Ironic, really, because the world is virtually my oyster. I seem to have loadsa spare dosh thanks to no goings-oot during lockdown and more than a year off the fags. (Yes, folks, managin’ OK, except for this burnin’ desire to light up whenever I sit in my beloved garden, where I always smoked. So my bonnie patio is virtually Mo-less, dammit.)
My usual travelling companion is urging me to think about another cruise. Nae chunce. I always suspected I’d loathe being incarcerated – no matter how luxuriously – with a bunch of strangers way oot at sea, so dipped my tae in the proverbial blue with that extortionately expensive Danube river trip. Never again.
Ended up getting money back because we were berthed so often with our balcony hard against another boat. Up until then, I didn’t know I suffered from claustrophobia. Or, come to that, fellow-passenger-phobia.
We’ve spotted an affa posho spa hotel in Tenerife which we might – just might – have the courage to book for October… 2022.
In the meantime, I actually am going to be able to pack my little case very soon. I’m off to what sounds perfect for a coupla nervous al’ wifies who need to get out of this place. Not so much jetting, as Megabussing off, doon the road a bittie. Three nights in Pitlochry. Perfect. Aye, but will it be? I’m frettin’ already.
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