stonehengeWe decided to make a weekend of Monday and Tuesday. Since her majesty’s 50th anniversary jubilee conflicted with a regular bank holiday we had two free days this week, and after the stress of last week, with the moving and school, we decided to throw everything aside, and make a weekend of these two free days.

So, we took about ยฃ200 out of the food budget, and went to the petrol station, and off we went into the wild rain-cloud covered expanses of Jubilee England. We only came home only when it was time to sleep.

This led to problems, though, because I have the parents that I have. Dad had tried to ring us, and since the mobiles were left at home, we didn’t answer. Cue overreaction mode. I’m not sure what disaster dad expected.

He’d called Auntie, and Auntie rang mum, and then went to look for us at the house. The girl below is a daft one, because even though she sat there while we loaded the car and talked to her about sightseeing, she didn’t know anything when Auntie asked her.

When we came home we, therefore, had three people call us to tell us off; auntie, mum and dad. I expect they’d spent hours calling each other with updates. Nobody thought to call Mark’s parents though, for reasons I’ll explain in the next segment. But we were there!

But… I don’t care. It was a good couple of days. I snogged about 400 yards from Stonehenge, so there. ๐Ÿ™‚ That’s a good way to use public monuments, isn’t it?


pubfoodSince we went to Salisbury (that’s where Stonehenge is, approximately), we also went and had a look at Mark’s parents new house. We didn’t get to meet his dad, because unlike us loafers he was off fixing some sewer leak somewhere. A nice way to spend the day, I suppose, stopping some bathroom from getting flooded with not so nice things. So, when we came there, only Mark’s mum was home. They’ve been much less efficient in the unpacking. I think half of the boxes still remained in the garage, and they’ve yet to replace their furniture.

But the village was really lovely. Quintessential English. There’s a pub in the centre of town. We went there, and this time nobody objected to us being there. We didn’t sample any beverages because Mark was driving, and it seemed unfair to him to drink when he couldn’t.

Mark’s mum bought us pub food, which I could have done without because it was swimming in fat. I think I ate only one chip. I’m not a particularly picky eater, but I hate food that is swimming in fat like that. It’s disgusting.


moviecuddleNow we’re at home, and with the new horrid sofa and the telly, we’re making pop-corn in the micro, and we’re going to watch some Indiana Jones-movies because I was reminded of them elsewhere.

So, this last night will be spent in front of the telly, talking about what we’ve seen, eating pop-corn and just having a nice time.

Tomorrow it’s back to the grind, after all, but I don’t want to think about that now.