Attic, gutters and wheely bins all get blitzed as, passport in hand, we hoover ourselves out the door

AS I type I’m seething with resentment at my husband. Steam coming out the ears sort of stuff. We’re going away for a few days shortly – the plan was to beat the crowd by going during school term (if we were in the UK we’d be fined), save some money and get ahead of sweltering temperatures. I think we’ve failed on all three, but regardless, I’ve descended into that pre-holiday madness that has to be seen to be believed. Basically it involves me going next-level crazy, trying to square off every last item on the ‘to do’ list – and a bit more – before we head off.

The fact that I’m fully aware I’m bonkers helps. It’s an affliction, and if I could shake it I would. I’d love to be that person who pulls the door out after me and skips off merrily to the airport with my passport and toothbrush. Instead I like to hoover my way out the door. Only after doing the following tasks in no particular order: reviewing our pension plans, weeding the bed at the end of the garden that has never before been weeded, cleaning the gutters, valeting the car, tidying the garage, decluttering the attic, worming the dog, arranging a dog sitter, giving the dog extra time and TLC in case he thinks we’re not coming back, turning things off, plugging things out, defrosting things … and if I’ve time, start getting a few bits for Christmas.

There’s more:  make sure we’ve insurance for every eventuality, get familiar with the symptoms of Hantavirus and Ebola (can’t be too careful) and check the holiday health insurance, book the airport parking, more hugs for the dog, delete stuff off the phone to get more space so we can take photos and make memories … and  print photos from the last holiday.

Before I fall down on my feet, I have to pack while inwardly crying that none of my outfits resemble anything that I’ve saved on Instagram. I was going for riviera chic but I’m definitely more shabby chic (and not in that cute way either). I mean does anyone really accessorize their swim wear though? Do people really wear hoop earrings and bangles on the beach? Ah well, it’s too late now to buy anything as I’ve blown the budget on sun factor, mosquito repellent and more robust travel insurance. And extra treats for the dog while we’re away. Then I start to wonder if there’s still time to lose that pre-holiday half stone before departure? Unlikely. It didn’t happen last year and probably won’t happen next year. Ah well. I wouldn’t mind but I’ve been devoted to my Ryvita crisp bread for weeks – probably the Brie I’m piling on top is where I’m going wrong. Damn tasty though.

Emma admits to losing the plot in her pre-holiday preparations. Even the wheely bins get it before she finally starts packing for a week by the pool.

Back to my husband. He on the other hand buys himself a new tshirt in Dunnes and asks me why I’m so cranky, ‘sure aren’t we going on holidays?’ It doesn’t help that he stopped eating cheese for breakfast for a week and hey presto, lost half a stone. I start to think hateful thoughts that it would be only fair if he went a bit bald … although I do quite like his hair. He has bad toenails so that’s probably his cross. I’ll make sure to pack his flip flops, and might have to draw people’s attention to them at the pool. Fair is fair like!

The family aren’t on the same page at all. At all. My husband was looking for something to wear to work the other morning. ‘Where are all my clothes?’ he asked as I was feverishly ironing the tea towels (after pulling all-nighter. Those gutters weren’t going to clean themselves!). They were either in the wash, drying or packed but I didn’t want to tip him off. ‘Here, take this,’ I said. ‘But they’re yours,’ he replied. ‘Black leggings are black leggings,’ I replied. ‘Don’t be so unreasonable … work with me. Off you go now, or you’ll be late.  Have a great day!’ I have been known to serve ‘unusual’ meals in a bid to empty the fridge (I can safely say that chorizo, eggs and mushrooms gives desperate heart burn), as for bringing the laundry to zero – I have done it but only by  drying things out the window on route to the airport. Once I lost a few socks around the Halfway but there’ll always be collateral damage.

Once we’re on the move I take on the persona of the mum on ‘Home Alone’ (RIP Catherine O’Hara). Did we power off the TV? Did we properly lock the back door? (there’s a knack, it’s a bit fiddly and it can fool you); Did we put the bins out? Did we put the cat out? (we haven’t a cat, my husband reminds me). Did the dog properly understand that we are coming back? And in the airport then it’s a case of repeatedly checking no one has snuck into my handbag and taken our passports while I’m holding on to it with the strength of a Gladiator. I’m not alone in that one: I was on a weekend away recently and all my friends were at it and they’re very normal (ish). Do holidays bring out a touch of madness in all of us?

Like I said, I know I’m above average crazy (we established that way back) and I’d genuinely love a cure because I’m wrecked and my family are ignoring me! I think suggesting they try to avoid using the toilets after I’d cleaned them was the final straw. But I bet they’ll thank me when they come home to a nice tidy house. Right? Anyway no time to chat …  still on the list is clean the oven and power hose the wheelie bins!