Arrival

Fractious and hot from an early start and a long journey. Before the unpacking is finished I am relegated to the spare room. Yet again. The crime this time: almost (although not actually) losing my purse. Rooting, concerned, in my bag as we came around the turn to the view point where we first spot the villa. Ruining the moment, and thus apparently the whole fortnight will be down the drain. This does seem unlikely, but after only an hour’s sleep, arguing would be too wearisome.

Note to self: only book holiday houses with two master suites in the future. Or perhaps strike with a preemptive defensive manoeuvre and be the one to do the banishing, on spurious infinitesimal but vitally early grounds, thus scoring a fortnight in splendid nocturnal isolation with the best bathroom.