I’m not a fan of bank holidays. In fact I’m not a fan of holidays full stop. Unless it’s a holiday for me. But personally I find holidays a pain. My town fills with brainless imbeciles who turn the most basic of food shops into a nightmarish hell. The Child doesn’t have to go to school which means I have to find ways to keep her entertained while trying to keep the house from sinking into new levels of hellholeness. It’s not fun. It’s stressful, and to be blunt, it all but turns me into an axe-wielding psychopath. But maybe I’m over-reacting.
At least when the long weekend’s over all the flags and bunting will disappear. It’s not that I’m completely unpatriotic, it’s just that I don’t want it rammed down my throat. I’m also not exactly proud to be British. When something gives me a reason to be proud to be British I’m sure I will be, but when I know what we Brits are famed for in certain foreign circles, I just cringe a bit. Hmm. What have we done as a nation that’s pretty brilliant lately? I’m not aware of it whatever it is. But I am pretty ignorant I have to confess. I can’t bear to pay too much attention to the news these days. It just depresses me. But the knowledge that soon trips to Sainsbury’s with The Child shall not be accompanied by a running dialogue of how many flags or lines of bunting we’ve passed cheers me up immensely. Oh how I can’t wait for it to be over. I’ll only have the Olympics to grumble about then. That and the general crapness that is British summer. In a seaside town. Joy.
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