Not long now. I can almost smell the myrtle and lemon trees.
The clock is ticking down to the moment when I can finally book our flights to Sardinia for May half-term. All I’m waiting on is for one of my mates - who shall remain nameless – to decide if him and his better half can afford to tag along.
This isn’t as straightforward as it first sounds. He’s not the most decisive bloke you'll meet. A decade or so ago when we first began working together he decided he was going to buy a house. Six years on when he finally decided where he wanted to live he found he could no longer afford one.
Meanwhile as he does the calculations I have to watch in horror as the air fares tick ever upwards like the meter in a black cab.
At this rate I fear we shall be walking.
Still whatever the cost it’ll be worth it. There’s plenty of work do be done at the house. The place will need a fresh coat of paint inside and out but frankly I no longer care. I can’t wait to get away from the office and feel the sun on my face. Even if it is from the top of a very tall ladder.
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