Holiday weekends are just the bee's knees. (Knees of the bees plural? Or the knees of one bee? A mystery of the ages). One more in early June and then it's the dreaded run to Labour Day in October, with nary a public holiday in sight. [Ominous music]. I would say you can expect about 50% more bitching as a result of the slog through to spring, but it's hard to fit more than 100% bitching into a blog.
Holiday weekends I have known and loved:
- May bank holiday, Bordeaux, 2012. Cheese and bread and wine and sun and friends. And driving a rental car on the wrong side of the road for about a kilometre.
- Well, there was that Easter/Royal Wedding weekend 2011 when I got engaged, that was pretty excellent. Amongst all the festivities (and we fested, we sure did), we ate more than one pork pie with chutney. Ploughman's lunch > affiancing? It's close.
- Waitangi Day every year of primary school. A day off?! Wheeeeeeeeeee!
- ANZAC Day every year of primary school - almost as good as Waitangi Day, but got up at sparrow's for the dawn service so it lost marks there.
- Queen's Bday weekend 2013 and the attack of the Flaming Tim's. Oh dear god, I drew on a table with a crayon and hurled out a window in tandem with my husband and he saw a dog eating it in the morning and I blame everyone but myself, as I am wont to do.
- New Year's Day, 1990ish. The day I sizzled the backs of my legs on a lilo on the lake. It was great up until I used the last of the aloe vera.
- Easter 1992. I recall the size of the chocolate egg haul with somnolent reverence.