The UK holiday starts here.
We’re on the motorway. It’s raining. Actually make that pouring. The traffic is horrendous and we’re still on the M25 after one and a half hours.
Beaver and Godivy have eaten all our snacks in the first 30 minutes. So Daddy Pig and I are sharing a stale Dairy Milk bar. So stale it tastes more like a Flake. Or an Aero. I need the toilet. So did Beaver, except she couldn’t wait so we’ve just done a picnic wee on the hard shoulder.
I have forgotten a lot. Because in contrast to my military precision packing for Turkey in June, this time round, to be frank I just couldn’t be bothered.