You go home and pack your panties...

I'll go home and pack my scanties and away we'll go ... Hopping on the train, hopping on the train to Buffalo..
I find it strange that I have taken to launching into songs from my very early youth. I blame Crackerjack where every other line in the dialogue was a cue for a song.
Well, folks, Buffalo is not our destination tomorrow, but we are hopping on the train with suitcases of granny pants which can scarcely be described as scanty.
The annual holiday always leaves me in a bit of a spin. I have confessed before to being a reluctant traveller. I mull over how many clothes to take, mainly because of the near herniation of Dearest as he lugged our stuffed cases on and off continental trains on previous occasions. I  broached the subject of how many pairs of pants (as in undergarments) I should take, with a close friend.  Mine are really heavy. They take up a substantial wodge of space in the case. Maybe I could get away with half a dozen, say, for a two week vacation?
"Oh," said my friend, barely disguising her disdain, "You'd be just like my mother hanging her smalls over the bath, ruining a perfectly lovely bathroom.."  I felt as though I'd been slapped in the kipper by a wet pair of knickers. It gave me pause for thought, I can tell you.

So now bags are packed, but not closed. Tickets, passports and vitals lie on the dining room table to avoid having to check them all again in the very early morning. The house is as shipshape as I can make it, in readiness for friends and family who are going to take advantage of our absence. The plumber is turning off the mains tomorrow as we have a leak (it grieves me beyond, and our plumber, beyonder) in our beautiful new bathroom. So the house will be hubbling and less of the bubbling, hopefully, in our absence.

So this may be the last post in a wee while, until I return at the end of August. I would like to think that new friends will be patient and think to visit again in a few weeks time. I have threatened to make Dearest read this Blog on holiday, but the closer we get, the colder my feet. It could be a gang plank for one of us.
I'd better pack water wings. Tally ho!