Long Weekend

It was the start of the long awaited mid-term holiday weekend on Saturday, and I tumbled out of bed in a strange state of hysterical euphoria, a condition which I attributed to the lingering effects of the previous night’s cava consumption. I eagerly packed my bag for the planned trip to the Buteshack, while the spouse checked the weather forecast and loaded the car.

An hour later, the true cause of the euphoria revealed itself, as my commentary on all the strange place names on the motorway signs in the vicinity of Greenock was interrupted by a sudden inability to read.

“…Fancy Farm…I mean, what kind of a place is that?” I pontificated, “…and what’s that one over there…oh no, my eyes have gone funny.”

The right half of my field of vision had disappeared in the familiar start of a migraine attack. I turned to the spouse, who now only had one eye, and warned him that we had precisely 30 minutes until my total collapse.

“Why does this only ever happen when I’m on holiday, why can’t it ever be on a work day?” I whined miserably.

“Dunno, but for god’s sake try not to be sick in the car”, came the reply.

In the queue at the ferry terminal, the blind spot gradually gave way to a jagged stroboscopic display of flashing lights, and I felt the first wave of nausea. Heeding the spouse’s words, I reached for the giant garden plant pot on the back seat and pulled it a little closer just in case.

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