You know the feeling. You arrive back from some fun in the sun. To dreary weather, nothing left in your bank account and nothing to look forward to but that one last sleep before work on Monday.
I propose that this is the end of post holiday blues as we know it.
We returned from Barcelona. A little worse for wear, early in the morning. To Heathrow. We also had to make it to Gatwick, then find the car, then drive back to Bournemouth.
This, I thought, is time for a change. To ban this feeling. To make a change. Starting this moment, right here, right now.
We emerged from the gaggle of holidaymakers getting lost between baggage reclaim and nothing to declare. Emerging from Heathrow Terminal 5 (which is, actually as airport terminals go, pretty nice) we stepped out into sunshine. YES, actual sunshine. In England. In early June. I stopped and felt the warm(ish) glow on my skin.
We needed a coach shuttle from Heathrow to Gatwick. After queuing at the national coach service (an ‘express national coach’ service. You get the idea) we booked a coach that left in 30 minutes. Excellent.
I purchased a normal white coffee from the coffee outlet in the terminal (coffee there wouldn’t ‘cost (y) a’. again, you get the idea) and sat on the comfy waiting area seats.
Striding to the coach terminals, 10 minutes early, I had confidence in the plan. No, I didn’t let the fact that no coach came for 30 minutes ruin my positivity. OR that the lady in the high vis jacket with the coach name emblazoned on her back told me the wrong stop number.
And I also didn’t let it get to me that when I picked up my car from the person’s driveway that I had rented out for the week, the battery was flat. I simply sighed, asked him for a jump start, and we were on our way.
AND I didn’t let the fact that the motorway signs flashed up ‘long delays between junctions 1-3’ upset me. (I was at junction 20 and had to go beyond junction 1).
We (me and the other half) had an epic plan. We pulled off the main road, consulted the old school road map and decided to rid the traffic, rid the stress, rid the queues, we were gonna navigate a drive home cross country.
Coming off the main road, we were suddenly in leafy suburbia. We put the top down on the (old, not sporty) car. Found our way down windy country roads, him driving, me navigating with map, we slowly got nearer to Bournemouth. All while catching the summer sun and chatting happily.
We even decided to stop at a country pub. As it was past 3, the lunch rush had ended, the bar staff were happy, we had a choice of tables and the food arrived really quickly. We paid, left back into the sunshine and made for home.
Getting home to our dark, small flat, we pelt a pang of sadness. No, we thought. NO!
We showered, changed, and before we fell asleep in front of Britain’s Got Talent (we HAD been up since 3 am) we set off or our local bar, Urban Beach. A gem of a bar, in amongst houses but only 2 roads up from the pier, with a huge decking area, it was perfect to catch the rest of the evening sun. I even ordered a mojito. We shared some nachos. We talked and laughed.
By the time we had returned home, and both fell asleep in front of the tv, we had managed to flee the post holiday depression. All because of a forced cross-country drive, a bashed-up old cabriolet, a country pub pit stop, a bit of sun and an evening mojito.
With brown skin, rosy cheeks, glossy hair and shiny blue eyes, I was actually fine about the return to work. No blues here!
That’s until Tuesday…