Monday, 13 October 2008
I am useless. Not, maybe, at everything. But definitely packing. I hate packing with a passion; I'd happily never go on holiday again just to avoid it. And it's not just packing (as in, throwing clothes etc in a suitcase) but fitting everything into the car, and leaving space for passengers and making sure the push-chair is the first thing that you come to when you lift the tail-gate and that the food you've packed is easily accessible for when you finally find a place to stop at least an hour after Charlie's started screaming. It doesn't seem to matter how long we're going to be away; there's always too much, and it takes too long, and in spite of planning it with military precision I manage to forget something vitally important. In August it was Charlie's drinking cup; September, socks (and Sally's knickers). Now, at Grandma's for a day or two I manage to forget his milk (a whole new tin - enormous, almost barrel-size) of SMA! I can't blame Charlie, either (although the number of things he needs to go away seems larger and more numerous each time). Years ago I once arrived at Grandma's for a week without a scrap of Sally's clothing, a catastrophe which necessitated driving straight back home to fetch the (perfectly packed) suitcase. It was standing on the floor in the middle of the bedroom. This time, thankfully, a trip to Boots was all that was required. But seriously, in future somebody will probably define this as a medical condition (with me as the only known sufferer). So when you hear of Dotterel's Syndrome, remember that you heard it here first.