Monday's are hard, they just are. Sometimes I work, sometimes I clean the house after the weekend, but very rarely do I do something nice. Fair enough, hardly anyone does nice things on a Monday. The monotony of hoovering gets me drifting off into far-off places, some exotic and full of spice, others bleak and wild. Sometimes I delve into the past, often wondering about the future but very rarely am I in the now of cleaning.
It's just so tedious keeping a house. Routine sends me batty. There must be an alternative way. All this work and little play.
I've booked the Corfu trip, hoping to emulate Gerald Durrell's world. I spent hours choosing two villas on each side of the island, squashing as much experience and memory into 7 days. The first, a place on a hillside over looking the sea, next to a donkey and in front of a village with a monastery - apparently if we ask for Spiro, he will serve us chicken in brown paper. How wonderful! Imagine that! The other little place I have booked is a cottage right on the sea, I mean, we are on the beach - open the front door and there is the bay! I imagine him and I taking our coffee onto the pebbles as the children run up and down the beach looking for treasures of the sea. I imagine no one there, it's early season, maybe some fishermen and Greek locals slowly opening their tavernas ready for the tourists arriving in their hoards in June. I imagine I am not a tourist, but part of the island. We will buy a book and learn Greek words, try new foods, make brief friends and learn about a way of life a little different to ours.
I romanticise all of this and look forward to those 7 days with earnest and anticipation. It just makes the housework so much more bearable - to imagine, wonder and mind-travel.