Every holiday, short break, or long weekend I have spent with Mike has ended in much the same way; in utter exhaustion. We are bad at relaxing it seems, or going on holiday anyway.In the last eleven years of premartial-ness, we have slept in a cupboard on a boat with two others in Stockholm, camped in pouring rain and heatwave (interestingly with the same effect), stayed in various shabby youth hostels with tiny beds and maximum noise (and one time, ghost-hunter nudity; best not to ask), random B&B's with lumpy beds and super-heated-for-the-elderly conditions, and 'best' of all, stayed in someone's garage in Dublin where they had been kind enough to insert a bed and call it an apartment. We have also sloshed around Wales, Cornwall and Windermere in ceaseless heavy rain. I seem to remember it rained a fair bit when we went to Paris too, oh and Dublin come to mention it.
Bad sleep and wet feet have come to characterise our little trips away. Last weekend we went to Seattle and you will be happy to know that the curse continued. We decided that next time I see a cheap deal and get the urge to go away, we will stay at home instead and maybe go out for a nice meal.
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