So after all our Heathrow drama, our belongings remain on the tarmac, "trace ongoing," according to BA's website. Beautiful. No travel cribs. Half our clothes. Of course, that just meant we made the luggage weight cut off at the airport (19.3 kg, 19.6 kg, 19.8 kg thank you very much!).
And now I greet you from my very Fancy holiday rental. A 13th Century completely renovated home with 9 bedrooms, all ensuite. H and I are treating the entire family, who only had to find their way to this tiny mountain town. Today will be a historical walking tour, followed by dinner in a local restaurant. Tomorrow is cooking class, complete with our own translator. And of course, there is a lot of booze flowing around. Sigh. This is the way my vacation was supposed to go. That whole BA/BAA marriage made in hell seems like a bad dream. I'm blocking it out.
Of course, it's not all perfect here. Tough Cookie stole her cousin's travel cot (which we bought for her anyway so really it's pretty fair) and the Princess is sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Frau Fancy is in one room and H in the other, babies divided between us. (Ha, don't think we started that way. Night one meant Fancy Me slept about 15 minutes while H had his own room. That wasn't going to work for a week.)
And to top off our adventures, H dropped my Fancy computer last night while I was cooking a Fancy seafood feast for the whole gang. Which means my wireless is no longer working. And I'm rapidly typing on my mother's decidedly Unfancy PC, just to let you know that I'm still very alive, very Fancy and wishing all of you a very Happy Holiday. Just in case I can't find another 5 minutes to myself this week. And now, off to continue my vacation, Fancy style. x