Dream Holiday

A friend of mine who is a diesel mechanic decided to have a holiday in the sun. He'd never been on a package holiday before but after a long damp winter lying under lorries in a cold shed he thought he deserved a break.

About a week before he went he had a dream.

I dreamt I was on a beautiful tropical beach. The sun was beating down and a balmy breeze was riffling the air. The sand was soft and white and the beach was fringed with coconut trees. The sea was dark turquoise. There were a few other people around but not too many. I was in my bathing trunks and the sun was warming my skin. In front of me was a trestle table and on it was a big old engine that I was stripping down. I breathed a deep sigh of contentment and thought to myself, 'Holidays are great. I should do this every year from now on.' 

Scorchio?

Nottio. I generally try not to let the weather bother me too much because the only thing I can control is my attitude towards it but this dull cloudiness is starting to piss me off. And everyone, except Bert and me, seems to be heading off on holiday. The only thing we've got planned is a quick dash over to Staffordshire to collect Hannah.

Zoe is off to Dingle, the Banjos have gone to Waterford leaving their crazy dog with us, even Matty is planning to go to Scotland with Ganching to commune with midges. I won't even mention those who are heading outside the British Isles as I might explode with jealousy.

And here I am stuck in Harryville right in the middle of the Loyalist Party Season. No escape until Thursday next. There is a part of me thinking,

"I need excitement and I need it fast"

Then there is the sensible part that thinks "No! No! No Harryville type excitement please. Please let it all be as dull as ditchwater."