Hesitantly I Google next weeks weather.
Placing my trust in the digital forecast,
I hold its images sacred
As I begin my holiday packing.
I hunt down old wellies,
Finding them hiding under the stairs.
Next to optimistic sandals,
Which still have the price tag on.
I wonder that if I pack sun tan lotion
Then the weather gods will smite me with rain.
But can I run the risk of having none
And my body slowly turning a patchy lobster-red.
Don’t forget the chargers I think,
Finding them in their usual plugs.
Their electrical umbilicals
Restoring life to my phone.
Phone, I can’t go on holiday without that,
It would be like leaving an arm behind.
It’s a Sat Nav, my weather forecaster
And connection to the world.
With all the packing gathered,
Like a tired magician who knows only one trick.
I force my holiday gear,
Into a suitcase that looks too small.
I place the bulging case in the car boot,
Ignoring the precarious roof rack.
As what if the case bursts open and
My underpants cause a tailback.
My holiday awaits, hope I packed enough.
So with those wise words I’m off on my hols, normal service will be resumed the 1st August, take care folks.