I am on holiday, Day 7

Yes. It is 7am.  People still find it necessary to send me emails about work to my home email address, so they ping into my "iPhone" (which is a miniature internet) and wake me up. Also sometimes they call me and also wake my husband up. I then find out that Marrakech is on 'special King time', so we are in fact an hour behind London rather than an hour ahead. It makes no sense, a bit like cucumber.

I have no picture of my breakfast yesterday because I forgot to take it, but it was a small, slightly runny omelette and a bun. Both were very pleasant. The entire day was spent lying around the preposterously lovely pool pretending to read and doing ironic high fives at the sight of various family members and friends and enormous bottles of rosywine.

Now I have the Waterpoos. I do not know where from, but my tummy doesn't hurt so I think it will be over soon.  I have done my counselling for this morning (see phone calls, above) and today I will go on the day out of love for my future sister-in-law, which involves brunch at Yves Saint Laurent's garden and other similarly charming activities.   Later, there may be dancing.

  

I am on holiday, Day 6

Ring ring. Ring ring. Hello? Yes. It is me. No, sorry. I am not able to do any of those things you wish me to do because I am spending a week in looooooxury.  Goodbye.

We are in Marrakech.  I am not saying it is better than Hastings, but it is certainly very different. We are not in the teeming centre, but in La Palmeraie in a hotel 'enclosure' so fancy that I am not able to see straight. The French-Canadian veterinary research histopathologist with whom I share my life (and fleas) is currently sleeping on a gigantic bed strewn with rose petals. I am sitting under a sort of canopy thing and there is grass and lawns and ornamental ponds and lanterns and blue blue blue sky etc.

Breakfast yesterday is not worthy of note. We woke early to drive from Hastings to Gatwick, stopping at a service station off the A21 to eat a Marks & Spencer (known by my brother when he was small as "Marks and Spensive") egg and bacon sandwich and drink strange coffee.  The flight on Royal Air Maroc was uneventful; the drive involved camels and a 3-legged donkey (outside the car). Now we are here. Here is our bed:

And here is the view out of our bedroom window:

Today I will probably be lying around reading the best writer in the world (aka Jilly Cooper). Tomorrow, unbelievably, my task (according to my brother) is "to go into Marrakech with the old housekeeper and buy 50 fezzes".  No word of a fucking lie.

Pip Fez Pip

NWM

I am on holiday, Day 5

It rained most of the day yesterday, but there was joy in our hearts, for we were with good friends in Hastings and there were Tunnock's Wafers and cups of tea to be drunk.  We had fish 'n' chips for breakfast; we waited until 11.50am and then scurried down the hill pretending to be North American and on our way to "brunch", which was a poor excuse for chips before midday.

Here, therefore, is breakfast.  Visitors to England: please do not do things like have fish and chips in pubs  or on cross-Channel ferries and think that they are the Real Deal. If you are going to do it (and contrary to popular belief we do not have fish and chips every day, stuffing them into our gaping maws straight from 1923 copies of The Times of London whilst wearing bowler hats and riding on Routemaster buses), find a British person you trust and who wears good-quality shoes and ask them for a recommendation.  The seaside is often a good place, and remember: this is not France; you will not be getting long thin chips.  Come to think of it, you are not in North America either, so a "chip" is a fry and a "crisp" is a chip.  Excellent.

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering around in the rain looking at things. Here are some of the things we looked at. Clearly the Tub Man was by FAR my favourite:

I think this suit is made of winkle shells painted silver. They are real. The model is clearly not real which is a relief, as if he were alive he would be trying to stab you in the eye with a winkle pin.

The evening passed in a Thai restaurant in a bookshop, and the night on an extremely comfortable sofa.  The French-Canadian veterinary research histopathologist to whom I am married are still married, but sometimes the nights are long and restless and I must sleep alone watching Gossip Girl and Four Weddings on my computer.  (The cat was in the restaurant.)

Today I must go up the A21 to Sevenoaks and thence to Gatwick, where we will board a Royal Air Maroc flight to Marrakech.  Judging by their reputation, we are unlikely to get there until next Tuesday, so think of us around 1pm and bark "Godspeed" at the sky.

Pip Pip!

NWM

I am on holiday, Day 4

Yes. Now we are in Hastings. It is nice.  We are watching the X-Factor on ITV Player and shouting. I would like to set fire to the girl with the stupid mohican.

Here is our bed. It is in the perfect house of dear friends.

Here is the view out of the window outside our room:

And what is this? It is yesterday's breakfast.  I could not eat it all with my mouth, but it was quite delicious. Underneath that egg and salmon is a potato rosti.   Filth!

In the afternoon, to Sissinghurst Castle, which I love with all my heart like this: swoon.

Today, no doubt, there will be fish 'n' chips. Tomorrow, there is Marrakech.  Ouf!

Pip Fishy Pip

NWM

I am on holiday, Day 3

I am sure you will agree that my Travelblogue is really quite the thing.  Soon everyone will be doing it and there will be travel blogs springing up all over the place.  I wouldn't be surprised if the "next big thing" would be for e.g. books with photographs of places to go with pertinent information for the traveller. We shall see.

But to business.  As ever, I bring you:

a) a photograph of the bed we slept in that night;
b) a photograph of breakfast;
c) another picture (or maybe two) of something we saw that day.

Yesterday was wet, but this not stop us from going to Whitstable (fishy), some gardens that were broken, Rye (always excellent) and Dungeness (creepy and excellent as usual).

Here we are:

Bed (same one as the night before, but as you can see, without the cushions and bedspread; this is not a flattering picture of either bed or room, both of which are magnificent):

Breakfast.  Splendid, properly splendid; magical food of delicious that meant we were  physically unable to think about food again until 3.30pm that afternoon:

Nice hut: 

Cat of Doubt: 

Today, to Sissinghurst to look at the gardens; to Cross in Hand to look at a friend, and to Hastings, where we will be for the next two nights. Whatever next?!

Pip By The Sea Pip

NWM