In a twist of fate, our budget flights to Canada over Christmas were cancelled by the booking agency and we had no choice but to book two of the four last available seats with a different carrier. Not only does this mean a potential direct flight from London to Vancouver, but our new dates mean we’ll be spending an extra five days there!
I’m over the moon about this because I’ve been missing home (well, ‘home’) like nobody’s business, and I still don’t think eight days would have been enough of a fix. Now I’ll have nearly two weeks of being carted around, cooked and cleaned for in a fresh, mountainous atmosphere where ten-year-olds aren’t packing heat and the customer service industry is full of eager post-grads willing to super-size my rootbeer with a super-size smile.
How to break the news to work though…
Well, my number’s finally up at the dentist’s so I’m heading off for stage 1 of a root canal shortly after lunch. I’m trying to see the bright side in all of this – an early departure from work on a Friday; an excuse to beg out of any weekend activities including dishes; the possibility of making a new friend (here’s where I ran out of bright sides) – but nothing takes the edge off the horrific reality that very soon someone will poke my gums with a giant needle in order to scrape out my nerve endings with a file.
Poor nerve endings! What have they ever done to anyone except warn us that we’re biting down too hard? Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?!
No, I suppose not.
More film festival madness is on the horizon, with a screening of Mister Lonely this evening and Grace is Gone tomorrow afternoon. Given that Naomi Watts bothered to show up for Funny Games, I’m thinking it’s not outside the realm of possibility that I will see John Cusack this weekend.
Is it finally our time, John, now that you are puffy and middle-aged and washed out and I am happily married? Seems unlikely.
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