I’M back in work after a lovely two weeks off - cue a very bad mood.
However, on the plus side (and I’m nothing if not a glass half-full kinda gal), I’ve survived two flights!
Forget weddings, this is cause for celebration indeed.
I’m what you might call ‘a nervous flyer’. Or, as a man sitting nearby on the way there said, ‘absolutely bloody mental’.
I’d have been embarrassed if we hadn’t been going through a patch of turbulence which was occupying all my mental energy.
“Are you okay Anna?” asked my husband (yet to be given a column name). “You’re sweating...”
Me: “No I’m not okay! People keep getting up to go to the loo! They’re going to tip the plane!”
I heard sniggers coming from Rude Man over the aisle.
“Seriously!” I added, loudly enough for him to hear. “It’s a real thing!”
My long-suffering husband sank slightly lower in his seat.
“I...er...actually do need the loo...” he ventured quietly.
“Tough!” I said, trying to hold back the hysteria. “You can go when we get to Rome!”
Still, we made it in one piece, and as soon as we landed set about holidaying alla Romana - by which I mean sacking off the wedding diet and eating our body weights in pizza, pasta and gelato.
At one point I thought we might have to be rolled back on the plane home.
We saw sights, people-watched and I remembered to keep my bag clutched to my body AT ALL TIMES to avoid the famous Roman pickpocketers.
This, I was told by dozens of relatives, was Very Important.
“You WILL get mugged!” they said. “You are a WALKING TARGET! Don’t trust ANYONE!”
We trusted no-one and tried our best to blend in (although I concede addressing my beloved as Signor Ferrari was a step too far).
And in a happy carb-and-sugar coma we boarded the plane home.
Which leads to here. Back in work. Wedding and honeymoon all over and done with.
I just wonder how soon we can renew our vows...