I’m writing this column in the dark from behind a curtain.
Of course I am.
Because Smithy and I decided a few days away would be nice and, without thinking it through, merrily booked one hotel room for ourselves and our eight month old daughter, who goes to bed at 6pm.
This is what life has become. Or, to be precise, this is what holidays have become.
We’re no longer the couple who, at 7pm, are just getting ready to hit the town.
We’re the couple who have already been hiding for an hour under a makeshift curtain-tent, trying to read by the light of our phones, while we drink lemonade straight from the bottle because we’re too scared of waking the baby to look for either the tumblers or the wine.
We’re trying to make the best of the situation though, and Smithy – a man who hears the call of his stomach above all else – had the foresight to bring plenty of snacks with him into our window-cave.
“Please will you pass the crisps?” he just whispered.
“Eh? What?” I responded.
(I also have a stinking cold and have gone completely deaf, just to make our mini-break even more bearable.)
“What did you say? You’ve got asthma like Chris?”
“No…” he whispered frustratedly, like someone trying to stay very quiet in a cramped hotel room, when they actually want to shout very loudly and then watch the Moto GP. “I said PLEASE. PASS. THE. CRISPS!”
I rooted around in the dark and eventually found over a packet of white chocolate cookies.
“They’ll have to do,” I said.
Thankfully, after several attempts, we’ve managed to connect to the hotel’s wi-fi, so things are looking up: my husband will be able to watch the Moto GP on his phone (on mute) and I’m hoping if I lean out of the window far enough in the direction of the nearest streetlight I’ll be able to read the screen on my Kindle.
I may also, if I’m feeling brave and can remember where I left my suitcase in the dark, venture out of our little den to find the wine.
Let’s face it: I think we’re going to need it.
Article first published in The Westmorland Gazette on October 29, 2015