The night before we used to go away on holiday with the boys , you’d find me at the ironing board at midnight , feversihly ironing my knickers dry having pulled them halfway through a wash from the machine.
I’m nothing if not organised but when you have a packing list that includes enough warm weather / cold weather / wet weather / twenty below zero weahter clothing and equipment for 3 children ( 2 boys plus husband ) , there’s precous little time left to see to your own needs.
Amongst the ‘must-have’ kit was the battery operated gopher that yodelled which had to be found , re-batteried and propped up on the dashboard ( an age old tradition ) , not to mention the camping raclette set in case we found ourselved halfway up a mountain with a kilogram of swiss cheese and nothin else to eat. This had a whole raft of its own problems including the gel fuel that fired it, a box of matches to light it and the little pick fork thingys that you scooped up the gooey cheese with in order not to burn your fingers. In all the years we spent our summer holidays in SWitzerland , I think we only used it once and that was at a French rest-stop on the long motorway drive home where we set up camp next to one of those infernal urinals that turn every motorway stop in France into a nightmarish retch-fest. I can only ever associate raclette cheese now with the smell of piss.
The unread books, untouched travel journals and unopened sketchbooks with their cellophane wrap intact, which I’d thrown in the boot in the insane belief that I might get a moment to myself, would be unpacked at the end of the trip in pristine condition. However , the first aid kit, which would keep a military hospital in a war zone supplied for a month, would have seen front line service . Why my husband thought it would be a good ideas to buy eldest son who was only 10 at the time, a Swiss Army pen-knife and let him ‘play’ with it in the bcak of the car, was beyond me.
We came back with a carrier bag full of assorted calomine lotions, potions and herbal remedies once for youngest son’s chicken pox which kept us room-bound for half of one entire holiday. Of course, because we had the car , we’d be expected to cart back the rest of the extended families’ ( yes we all went together in one big bickering happy family group of about a dozen ) souvenirs and heavy items, shoes, fondue pots and assorted baggage . It was a wonder there was room for the kids in the back of the car for the trip home when I think about it.
So, here I am the night before husband and I embark on a weekend,childless, in Switzerland for old times’ sake. Not only will I not have to iron my knickers dry this time, but I may even be able to pack some of my own clothes and possibly a smidgeon of make-up. It’s just struck me that I need to get up into the attic and check out the whereabouts of that gopher. Old habits die hard.