I’m sitting in a brightly lit corner of an office in Hertfordshire early in the morning wondering where the previous evening went. During the week before the planning seemed to have proceeded really well, I had been sure things would progress really smoothly and everything would be a doddle. Sadly not. As usual the all too familiar scramble to pack stuff into bags ensued. The main problem is that you start out so clear and methodical and end up losing all momentum as you tire of the task. I remember crawling into bed hoping against all odds that I’d not wake up too tired.

Sitting here, I feel like I’m in a kind of limbo. I’m here but I don’t want to be here, I want to get on with the holiday but am forced to tread the slow path, minute by minute and hour by hour until 6pm. Then and only then can I unleash the holiday spirit and run head long into the arms of holiday that has been planned now for so many months.

All this waiting makes me remember school holidays waiting patiently for birthdays or days out or Christmas. It’s strange how the waiting evokes these memories. Oh well only another ten hours.