Emigrating

Doesn’t this sort of hideous day just make you want to  get online and  buy a one way ticket to Australia?

Having clocked myself in a full length mirror in my underwear yesterday it has been hard to get out of bed let alone leave the house thanks to the sure knowledge that gravity is excelling in it’s bid to drag me down.

So the only thing that has stopped me booking that ticket to escape this siberian hell is the idea that it’s sunny in Oz and a thick thermal ensemble, which is currently all I will be seen in, would hardly be de rigeur on Bondi and I am not taking my clothes off again. Ever. Even if I get run over.

Oh that and the fact I have no money. And I hate flying. And the dogs couldn’t come with me. And teenwolf wouldn’t come with me ‘cos he’s 15 and can’t decide if he likes me or hates me and the idea of being on a long haul flight with your mother would be sooooooo emabrrassing, and my long suffering husband thinks I am having some sort of mid-life crisis.

Which I am.

Obviously.

Bugger.

My proposed beach wear. The bell tent.