Holiday

We’ve been holidaying chez Frenchie and Mr P..

It’s surprising that we ever get away.

I’m a nervous flier. I pack the day before travelling. I pack Cornflake’s stuff too, I can’t cope with 5.30am pre flight packing. I need to be early. Airport, breakfast, gate as soon as it’s announced. Cornflake likes to wander, book shops, a stop for a bowel movement. I think Fitbit needs to recognise hanging about outside shops and toilets having a nervous travel breakdown as an actual calorie burning activity.

Cornflake isn’t a natural traveler either. He doesn’t like journeys. He likes destinations. He doesn’t like the bit that gets him there, or indeed the bit that gets him home. When the destination is reached it’s hard to tell if he’s loving it due to his face. He’s frightened himself on occasion by catching it in a mirror unexpectedly. I’ve stopped trying to read the more subtle variations of his facial expressions. As a general rule, regarding journeys, they are Cornflake rated on a scale of indifferent to awful, destinations alright to fabulous.

Frenchie’s Portugal achieves fabulous.

Cornflake is missing his holiday. To say what he’s missing exactly is hard. The company, location, home cooked dinners, breakfasts and lunches? River walks, scenery? Beautiful house and grounds? Pretty towns? Any and all of those probably.

He’s unlikely to be missing the daily dog washes. Our legs have never been so clean, clean of everything except dog spit that is. Given a choice I’d definitely say no to these lovingly administered ablutions, but teaching a small terrier the concept of consent is beyond me and probably beyond all hope. We did appreciate the effort though.

Here’s a picture of a beach that we could be missing.

Blue sky, hot sand, cool water.