Week 7 - Covid Air

"This is your Cabin Services Director speaking. The bar will be closing in approximately 30 minutes as we make our approach into Gatwick. We hope you've enjoyed your flight with Covid Air".

Panic ensues as passengers ("Gin" - the Mrs so called because of her preferred choice of breakfast cereal mixer - and Mr H) rush to get that last G 'n T and Sombrero Brandy poured, downed and re-ordered before the bar shuts. Have to make the most of the freebies. Them's the rules.

Wait, what? Holiday? Flights?

Well, no. The only flights we've been on in the last seven weeks is the stairs and this flight of fancy of course, which came about because I dared to suggest that perhaps we should drink a bit less if we are to survive lock-down with the remnants of functioning livers.

"But we are on holiday!" says Gin. "We fly home tomorrow".

Riiiiggghhhttttttt.

I decide to play along. "So where have we been?"

Somewhere warm?

It's been 24 degrees and we've been sitting outside in the sun. Check.

Lots of drinking? Wine? Gin? Brandy?

Does the Pope talk to a big invisible sky fairy? Of course there has been. Check.

Foreign food all week?

You betcha - Fettuccine with Spiced Cherry Tomato Sauce; Rocket and Pecorino Orecchiette; Mediterranean Squid Stew; Harissa Beef & Chargrilled Broccoli; Parma Ham & Red Peppers with Taglierini; Spaghetti with Prawns, Parma Ham & Parsley; Mild Goan Fish Curry. Check.

Italy! That's where we've been! Goan Fish Curry though? Must have had a night out at an Indian Restaurant.

Rather ironic in the week in which we received the money back for our Real Italian holiday which was due to take place in July.

Anyway, I digress. Week 7: The Tiger King. Oh My God! That's worth a year's subscription to Netflix alone. They are all MAD. G (for "Girl") has taken to strapping-on a fake mullet and drawing on a dodgy beard, then running around the house shouting "I'm gawn kill you Carole Baaaskin!" Which reminds me, must get the mince out of the freezer for tea.

Talking of strap-on things, we've managed to procure a home table tennis kit from Amazon which very quickly converts the kitchen table into a tournament arena. I'm not saying it got too competitive, but B (for "Boy") swung so hard at the ball, his follow-through put a bat-shaped dent in the freezer.

Of course being On Holiday means that household duties have taken a back seat and the bike saddle has seen more of my out-of-shape arse. Being overtaken by an old geezer going up the hill into Woldingham was enough to convince me that Downhill is Best.

And with that, we enter week eight. I'm already wondering what the dickens I'm going to be able to write about. Next week looks remarkably like this, but with less wine.

Love & elbow grease,

Mr H

PS A special mention for C (for "Cat") who managed to cut the tip of his tail and spread blood around the house this week. He was a bit out of sorts for a few days but made up for it by munching on BTIT (for "Blue Tit"). Nice.