Hestia ...does The Borders

Lovely!

The regular reader of this column may recall that Tartarus does not like using airports and therefore Sonshine and I have not been abroad with him, as a family.

Last December there was a marital upset here on Mount Olympus which included a furious demand (from me) that We Go On Holiday ABROAD to which Tartarus reluctantly acquiesced.

So, it is now October and we have not been abroad.  Tartarus has put the ball firmly in my half of the park - if I want to go abroad, I have to organise it myself.

I start looking at 10 days in Italy, only to find that in October direct flights to Italy are rarer than moments of lucidity for Donald Trump.  Adding in flights to London AND accommodation in Italy soon sends the holiday spiralling up the pound signs.


I then look at a week on Malta. Which has even fewer direct flights.  It does look lovely, but there are only so many historic sights that Sonshine will want to see.

"Where do YOU want to go?" I ask him as my eyes start to leak out of my skull thanks to too many hours checking out locations and accommodation and flights and Things To Do on Trip Advisor.

"Dunno.  Japan."

"Japan?"

"Yes, you promised.  'Cicada' is in Japan and you said that we could go and visit him one day."

Reader, Sonshine has not yet worked out that One Day is approximately the day before Never.  The last thing that the lovely tattooed drummer/hipster known as Cicada requires is his mother's friend and her son turning up for a wee visit to his bijou abode in Tokyo.

"How about a week in London?" I offer by way of solution.

Sonshine considers this, his hands never straying from his one-player shoot out game on the Playstation, his eyes never blinking away from the screen.

"Aye, London would be alright."

I dive back into Trip Advisor and check out accommodation in London and flights to London and on and on and on and on. I absolutely HATE booking holidays.

It actually looks semi-affordable.

Until I check the school October holiday dates.

And I am a week adrift.

I type in the correct dates and watch the prices inflate by hundreds of pounds.

I am furious.

I lie with my head on the desk and talk to Tom Hiddleston who is standing in his tuxedo right behind me.

"As God is my witness, I am not leaving this computer until I have a holiday booked."

My inbox pings.

Five nights at the delightful self-catering accommodation known as Cosaig in the Scottish Borders has become available, during the October break.  It means I can take the dog.  I type back: "We'll take it."

So, 10 days in Italy becomes 5 nights in The Borders.  That's probably about as close as I am likely to get.

How about you?