Sad feelings

The only problem with holidays (and I may be wrong on this as I haven't researched them too extensively, although I'd love the opportunity) is that they come to an end.

While I'm not quite in that boat at the moment, the event horizon is visible and starting to exert some gentle sucking.

Sunday morning, we'll wake up as though it's just another day in paradise, and then have to pack up all our stuff into mysteriously smaller bags than we started with and begin the trek home.

Sometimes that seems impossibly far off. Impossible in the, "I can't believe it's really going to happen so I'll ignore it until it does," type way. Other times, well, sigh.

If our holiday was a pottle of yoghurt, the tip of our teaspoon has just scraped along the bottom. There's still a fair whack of dairy goodness left, but we're on notice for what's coming next.

And the worst thing about these holiday niggles, is that nobody who isn't on holiday at the moment facing the same conundrum doesn't express any sympathy whatsoever. You unfeeling illegitimate children.

I suppose it would also be going to far to ask for empathy as I say that right at the minute I'm feeling uncomfortably hot from all of the unending sunshine, and I can't work up the enthusiasm to get into my swimsuit for another swim. Poor me. #firstworldholidayproblems

I'm certainly far too hot to keep typing. I don't want to accidentally sweat any more symbols off my laptop keyboard.