Lunchtime on Friday I set my out of office with words to the effect of ‘See you next month, bitches!’ except couched in far more professional language, obviously.
But all the good weather seems to have gone away, and the forecast for the next 2-1/2 weeks is just pants.
We were supposed to be down in Cornwall (we being four humans and the two dogs) but after a lot of thinking and several conversations we decided not to risk it. So we postponed and moved the booking to next year.
A difficult decision, obviously, but the right one given the beach where we were going would have been absolutely rammed with the kind of non-social-distancing, non-mask-wearing people you wouldn’t want to be rubbing shoulders with. Because people are, obviously, idiots.
So my annual leave will be taken at home. Or will it?
We’ve got a couple of nights away this week, just to give the caravan its maiden voyage.
And who knows? If that works out well then we might slip away for a few nights next week as well.
And if it doesn’t work out well then we’ll come home, lick our wounds and sell the caravan. And the kids.
But not the dogs, obviously.
We went to Cornwall last week.
I’m not really a beach person, but when we did venture down there, it wasn’t too bad at all.
Of course, I neglect to mention that it was a ‘private’ beach, attached to the apartments where we were staying.
Social distancing in some of the picturesque Cornish vilages was nigh-on impossible though, with streets that are less than 2 metres wide in places!
But, it has to be said, that all the places we visited in Cornwall were most welcoming to dogs.
We had a fortnight booked at a resort on a small, very beautiful, dog-friendly beach. And then we figured that the British have the capacity to be world-beating idiots, we decided against, for this year. Dog-welcoming in Cornwall seems to be the fashion, and I applaud the Cornish for this.