The rucksack has been packed. The fairy lights have been taken down from my room. Daveycat has been interned in a plush cattery, and Marvie is going to be spoilt by Sian for a week.
God, I can be a melodramatic sod when it suits me. It's summertime, and since my last update I have been revelling in these endless days of leisure - indulging in my sporty side by playing badminton with Mother Dearest and piggy-in-the-middle in the park with Sian and Ol, reading historical novels with stomach-turning descriptions of the executioners block, Bloody Mary's with Jenny, dindins with Loz and Zoe, jettisoning make-up for a fortnight and feeling a damn sight better for it, drinking more than a few pints of beer.
All too soon it was time to start packing up in preparation for the horrors of moving home and the JOYS, OH THE JOYS of three months in Europe. It took the best part of an afternoon to vacuum pack 11 jumbo bags of clothes to stash in Dads garage, and I've been left with two pairs of shorts, leggings, six t-shirts, a hoodie, a mac and a dress for the next 11 weeks. A fashion bloggers nightmare? Hell no. I'm positively relishing the prospect of looking like an absolute tool in ten countries (one of which we're only visiting because of the dirt-cheap tobacco. Brilliant). I can't wait.
We move out of Angus Street tomorrow morning. Sian, Ol and I had a bittersweet last supper and watched the final instalment of Harlots, Housewives and Heroines (I would've been GUTTED if I'd missed it) with a bottle of Bulmers and a lot of baccy. We leave for Italy on Friday.
So it's ta-ta for now. If any of you guys remember my blog in three months time, do stop by and have a gander at the inevitable dorky holiday snaps. Also, if anyone wants a drunken postcard please do let me know. I'll be well up for sending out all kinds of shit to anyone interested.
Love and kisses, amigos!