Hols again

I’m off back to Greece tomorrow after a three month break (yes, yes, I know, most of you get just one holiday a year so I should stop moaning).

Once again, potential burglars can stop short of even thinking about burgling my house because my daughter and her boyfriend are there and also, this time, my fast growing and ferocious Labrador puppy, which they are supposedly generally looking after, walking and feeding.

My flight is at a hideous time on Saturday morning and we have to be at Gatwick at 4am. But at least that does mean we get to our apartment at lunch time and have most of the day available to us (even if we do sleep for quite a lot of the afternoon). A nice dinner, and early night and we will be raring to go on Sunday.

Unfortunately the flight back is also at a rubbish time and we land at Gatwick about 2am. That is more knackering, as when you come home you don’t have a holiday to look forward to. But I suppose you have to come home some time!

Being adopted, I have no idea whether I have Mediterranean blood in me anywhere but it would certainly seem like it. There is very little of the English temperament in me as far as I can see, and I have never minded being out on a limb with my lifestyle and preferences. I dislike so much of the UK and adore being in southern Europe where the climate suits my health issues and where, being a keen cook, I love the variety of fresh, vibrant and nourishing food, in particular the fish, fruit and vegetables.

We have some friends who have recently moved up to Cumbria. Apparently they dislike being too warm and like the outdoorsy life. The fact that it is bloody cold and wet most of the time up there as well as being miles from anywhere would appear to have escaped them, but perhaps they like that too? Personally, it wouldn’t suit me. As I have blogged before, I like being warm, I love the sun and I hate being cold and wet. Tramping across the moors and sitting by a roaring fire in country pubs is alright for a holiday, but I would dislike the remoteness which, although it might be a novelty for a short while, would eventually grate on me and I’d be wondering where the next Chinese takeaway was coming from or where I could buy Clarins.

Greece is, of course, even further up shit creek than the UK at the moment and to make things worse would appear to have also lost the paddle. And they’re drifting even further upstream as you read with no hope whatever, if my layman’s observational view is worth anything, of paying back their debts and repairing their infrastructure in the next decade or even possibly within my life time.

But it’s still my favourite place. Even before I get off the plane, I relax. At home I’m ancie (I’ve no idea if that’s how you spell it, and the spell checker suggested ancient as an alternative – totally useless!) if things take too long or people are late, out there it doesn’t seem to matter. I’m sure I’m less stressed and my blood pressure goes down.

So early start or not, I can’t wait. I have been applying the tinted moisturiser for weeks now to make sure I’m not totally ‘engleesh white skin’ on the beach and my bag is packed – passport, cash, tickets, ipod and book. Gatwick, here I come!