Forget big bangs and things sub-atomic hurtling through Alpine tunnels. Teleportation is the next big thing believe me. Bring it on. p.d.q.
Mon dieu! Going on holiday is so damned difficult. I'm wilting. It's generally a delight once you've arrived at your destination - an other-worldly pleasure-fest involving sunshine and reading. What a joy it would be to be 'beamed down', luggage and sundries complete. The preparations which make it all possible are enough to bring on an attack of the vapours. Thank goodness we are only going for a week - although I'm sure a Holiday Rule comes into play - as it does with children - that more than one (that's a child or a week) doesn't necessarily increase the work load. Much. Lists, lists and more lists are made. We tick the tasks off with a grateful sigh.
In the small mountain kingdom of Trelystan the people from the Big House have been appointed regent in our absence. A regiment of house-watching neighbours have been drilled to feed and water hens and tomatoes. Dogs are blythely unaware that kennels await them. Suitcases are mostly packed with clothes that haven't been out much this season and little piles of essentials gather.
Hmm. With a jolt I remember too, that as if this were not enough, there is the question of getting one's kit off. Beaches, sunshine......swimsuits.......
I stand in the bathrooom in front of the mirror. The normally kind and warm lights have a adopted a cruel cold glint. The wild-looking body that looks back at me is mostly pale and hairy. There is a hint of a 'farmer's tan' to the upper body and the feet have 'Birkenstock' marks. One hand is stained purple with bilberry juice. The nails on both are a disgrace. The hair is Strewwelpeter-esque. All in all it is not a good look.
If you believe that the female form is naturally and effortlessly buffed and silky smooth then it might be best to turn away now in case reality disappoints. Trust me, the body beautiful is hard work.There follows a frenzy of washing and scrubbing, exfoliation, depilation, clipping, buffing and annointing. There are potions that moisturise and potions to bring a touch of colour to a pallid skin. I manicure and I pedicure till my extremities are honed to an unfamiliar perfection. Sigh. I drop into bed sometime later. I would like to think that after all this I was scented with rare, exotic and sweet perfumes; however all these functional creams give off a slightly evil and chemical pong which cannot be the least bit alluring - nor can it be disguised. I am smooth and soft of skin though. That bit has been a success. Tomorrow I'll probably wake with a tan as streaky as bacon. Damn.
I fall asleep and dream as ever of travel - in my dreams I'm always travelling. Buses, trains and planes, routes strange and routes familiar. Pretty soon, before a dawn, we'll be off to Paxos (the best) for real.
I've painted my toenails gold. I'm ready to go.