kelzadiddle: (keep calm and read Wodehouse)
Guess who knows about my excursion to Ireland now? Dad remembered out of the blue earlier that he has my older sister, Gail, added as a friend on Facebook. He contacted her; she phoned us and then phoned Mum who said 'yay!', and then she phoned us again. My surprise is down the drain, but I now have a secure means of transport (i.e. my stepdad) and I've saved £35.

As it happens, Mum is in Newcastle for the summer, staying at the caravan at Mourneview. I'm so glad she still has it, as it means she has somewhere nice she can escape to virtually for free. So, she's willing to have me over (Gail's exact words were 'over the moon'), which means I can have a proper holiday!

Wow. When on earth did you last hear the words 'Kelza' and 'holiday' put together? "Kelza ruins neighbours' summer holiday by playing loud music"? "Mr. Holiday accuses Kelza of performing unethical tests regarding black holes and his favourite nail clippers"? And why can't I think of an example which doesn't involve me causing other people bother?

Let it be known, world: Kelza is going on holiday, for the first time in about five years. I actually can't believe it!

Now all that's left is to pack tomorrow, go and hope my ID gets me onto the plane...
kelzadiddle: (Write Like a Mofo)
It's nearly eight in the morning and I'm awake before everyone else. This is partially due to my excitement, but also because I'm intent on going out this morning to buy aforementioned SD card. It is, however, absolutely piddling it down, and I don;t much fancy going out in that!

I don't know how many people thought Mike Oldfield crazy when he wrote about his 'atmosphere antennae', but I can really see where he's coming from. Certain days and situations really do seem to have particular atmospheres to them. Summer evenings in August, for example. The first day back at school after summer, which I probably won't feel for another year or so if all goes well. The beginning of the Christmas holidays.

Years ago, when Mum had the money to come over here and take us back to Ireland for two weeks, the two days before she was due to arrive would feel great, like one of those promising days, only they've been electrocuted or sent on a sugar rush. It's been a long time since I've had that feeling, and when I woke up this morning it struck me smack-bang in the face. I'll be heading over there in less than two days' time, and today's got that "I'm about to travel!" excitement to it.

Dad's getting up, now. I can hear him bumping about, coughing and wheezing. Perhaps I can scrounge a lift to the flea market to avoid walking in the rain and getting soaked.

I checked my e-mails again this morning and there's no reply from Mum or Claire. It matters even less, now that my plan's free from holes.

It occurred to me recently that I'd love to write a book about Canterbury; something that would be part travelogue, part insight into the city's history and culture. I'd go there myself on foot (taking the safest route, of course), write about my journey and my experience there - interlinking the stuff about the city itself - and it would be my very own Canterbury Tale. To do that would be tremendous fun.

While I'm at the flea market, it might be of benefit to look into new shoes as well, while my orange ones ended up ruined.

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