We are going on holiday tonight*. The children, still of an age where a fortnight in Scotland is as exciting as a Caribbean cruise (if only), are apoplectic with excitement and keep emerging from their bedrooms to see if it’s time to leave yet. We’re heading to the Scottish island where Mr M spent his childhood summers with Granny Mack, who was technically English but really very Scottish. Sadly Granny Mack isn’t there any more, but the ice-creams, the coke floats, the crazy golf, the bicycle hire shop, and the World’s Narrowest House (just 47 inches wide, although it widens at the back, which is a bit of a cheat) are.
We’ve put the children to bed early (and I’ll be following, shortly) in order to carry out what I am convinced is a genius plan. Nobody in their right minds can see anything fun about travelling for nine hours in a car with an excitable spaniel and three bored children, and so, in my view, the only option is to travel at night. I used to love it as a child: I have vague recollections of being picked up and carried to the car in the middle of the night, followed by the excitement of waking up in my pyjamas in an anonymous service station. (Reading that now, it does rather suggest I was abducted: I’m happy to report that was never the case).
The car is packed to the gunnels with everything I’m worried I might not be able to buy outside of the Cotswolds, (couscous, fresh basil, anything with flaxseed in it…) and blankets and pillows galore for the infants. (And for me: Mr M is far less annoying behind the wheel than beside it, and who am I to argue with his offer to do the first stint?) At 3am we’ll rise, pack the last few items, lift the children gently from their beds, and place them in the car. They may stir a little as we put on their seat belts, but then they’ll drift back to sleep, affording us several hours of blissfully uninterrupted driving time. By the time they wake we’ll be virtually at the border, refreshed and disinclined to bicker, hit each other, or ask whether we’re nearly there.
What could possibly go wrong?
*house occupied, nothing of value etc etc, but if you break in anyway, please empty the dishwasher.