So the plan is; you’re having a big birthday sometime soon. Very big birthday. So fucking big that for the first time in your life you’re suddenly aware of certain realities which may have been sort of ‘ignored’ on the rapidly moving conveyor belt of life which had brought you this far. Like: I’m very old. Like: I have had way more time than I have ‘left’. Like: those were the good years; it’s all uphill from now on. But heh, its ‘only’ 70, rapidly approaching, that’s the ‘new 45’ (I have unilaterally and fairly randomly decided), so each day is a blessing, and thus must be celebrated accordingly.

That’s June 16th. The ‘big day’. If I make it, obvs. No guarantees at this age. The day before is our 40th wedding anniversary. Holy shit! Don’t even ask how that one happened. No-one saw it coming. Anyway, we need to celebrate. So we’ll do what we do best; go on holiday. Otherwise you feel obliged to spend 10 grand watching people who claim to be ‘friends’ eating your food and getting pissed on your dollar, whilst you’ve spent 6 weeks fretting about flower arrangements and the music play list, only to find half your friends are pollen-anaphylactic and the other half in fucking wheelchairs.

So we’ve brought the gels and the kiddlies over to Cadiz. Why? Because MMM (me mate Mark) did it last year and said it was great. Simple. No agonising on the where/when/the transport/rooms, all sorted. Other than the ‘when’.

Because to actually be away on the 15th/16th of June would be just too ‘appropriate’, too ‘coincidental’ or ‘punctual’ and the fascists who run our country’s junior educational system wouldn’t want that, WOULD THEY???? No. So instead of putting a half term holiday which would have suited us perfectly, those bastards put it now. This week. Ok, we could have just all come without Lila and Joey. Left them in ‘care’ for the week, with social services. Or we could have just brought them anyway and faced the armed police that would have met us at Heathrow on our return. Or we could do now instead. Which, coincidentally, meant we travelled, yesterday, on Joey’s 7th birthday. Which was fun.

So here we all are. In the sun (just like those of you still in England), and by the beach, and in the very strong winds that they get round here. But I’m not complaining. Not yet, anyway. In fact I don’t need to complain. I’ve brought some professionals with me.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx