How’s your Wednesday going then? Mine is all about lazing in the sun, drinking cold beer and reading cool books.
Aye, the Begbies have transported to sunnier climes for a few days in our annual jaunt to build up all those vitamins sunshine produces in your body, but Scotland can’t.
It’s one of those multi-centre holidays – a few days abroad (by which I mean a couple of nights in London, too) then gadding around in God’s Own City of Edinburgh.
And you know what that means … a mahoosive suitcase.
After all, how do you plan for the blistering Canaries, the variable Englandshire and the more than likely chucking it down in stair-rods of Embra.
By packing almost every item of clothing you possess, in my case – or should that be suitcase.
Still, nice to get away from the travails of the world, eh?
Except the act of packing is a reminder in itself of the bizarre world in which we now live.
Take buying Euros for example. Not as many as them to the pound these days, are there? Thank you Brexiteers.
And that familiar red passport that makes me a citizen of 27 countries. That’ll be fit for the bin soon. Thank you Brexiteers.
What about the comfortable knowledge if I get ill I can get treatment while abroad courtesy of that reciprocal health agreement? Ta ta to that. Thank you … yeah, you’ll have the idea by now.
And as for being close to the belly of the beast when we’re in London, maybe by the time we get there Theresa May will have come up with a Brexit plan. Or at least mapped one out on the back of a fag packet.
Still, I always have Edinburgh to look forward to and might even wander past Bute House where Nicola could well be trying to work out how to get the best deal for Scotland in the Brexit car crash. If anyone in the Westminster elite actually cares what Scotland thinks (no £1 billion for us, then).
Unfortunately, the landscape for years ahead is a bit like my holiday suitcase.
Packed full of stuff, from suncream to brollies, continental adaptors to spare contact lenses, all vying for my attention, but me being clueless as to what I will need and when because I have no idea what will happen next.
It’s an odd way to organise a holiday, I suppose – an even odder way to organise the future of your country.
This article originally appeared on the Evening Express website. For more information, read about our new combined website.
