Do you remember when the realisation hit you that there were no more summer holidays to enjoy? How sad. Six weeks of freedom are over and done with for pretty much ever more, pending 'retirement'.
I remember once that I was told 'my' doctor was on sabbatical and I'd have to see another. Firstly, the notion of having just the one doctor you see is long gone, just getting to see anyone is something to be grateful for and frankly at the infrequency I aim to attend the practice 'my' doctor wouldn't know me from Adam, except anatomically.
Secondly, a sabbatical sounded like something everyone should have. A total break and escape from the relentless cycle of working weeks. A holiday these days is a double edged sword; having to frantically get things up square before leaving and the stress of trying to get things to a stage where they can be handed over to someone in your absence without complete collapse, then being pooped for the start of holiday. To holiday and then return to a backlog of work that needs immediate attention.
Fun.
The most worrying thing is when I come across emails or notes on doors saying - I'm on holiday but leave a message and I'll get back to you when I can.
WHAT? There's surely no proper break to be had if you are tending to work whilst on the escape.
I operate a policy of no contact except the express instructions to inform me if anything is up with the dog.
Social media has got to have wrecked those days away, it used to be radio silence from people on holiday. Now it seems like an hour by hour sharing of snaps in the sunshine.
Not for me thanks, I'll pop my phone on flight mode and enjoy the absence of 2019 for a while.
This foxglove is a lot like summer of 2019. Uphill, leaned, downhill then an attempt to perk up at the end.











Take care,
Sophie