Practising

His Lordship's last words before going to bed last night were 'Now tomorrow we'll get into holiday mode, and it will be a good relaxing day'. So comforting and so wrong.

What men don't understand is the frenetic last minute washing, cleaning, tidying and organising of plant waterers, not to mention packing a fortnight's clothes for unknown weather into two tiny panniers, that a lady feels compelled to do before the words 'set out' spring to mind.

I'm not sure of the logic of having the whole house and every sheet and towel within, clean and shining, just when you're not there to enjoy the experience.
By the time we get back, we will have forgotten that everything has been washed and the dust will be as thick as ever.

What his Lordship failed to mention with the relax word was a routine appointment elsewhere this afternoon and a trip into town to collect his all singing, all dancing new glasses.
Not only that, but what we both failed to take on board was the emergency visit of the plumber this morning to renew a washer on the central heating boiler.

And so after an early chilly stand in the Meadows by me to try and practise the art of panning when cyclists, for whatever reason, were thin on the ground and were inconsiderate enough not to arrive with any car in the vicinity, the time has been taken up testing the panniers on the bikes.

My major concern is getting on to the bike with the panniers attached. With short legs it's no joke, I can tell you. I feel like the horsemen of a bygone age when a mounting block was required to enable them to get their bottoms onto the saddle.
Getting off is slightly less of a problem but is still likely to cause a dislocation of the hips.

What fun, and boy, am I in the holiday mood? No!