(no subject)

So. I didn't go to Wales. I decided to stay home instead. I thought about it some more last night, and I realised that mostly when I thought about the holiday, I thought a little about it being a holiday, a little about my youngest nephew, and mostly about how if I really couldn't take it I could just stay in my room and read a book all day or something. Or go off on my own. Or get a train back home. Which didn't seem like the best way to start off a holiday. And then my mum came and dropped the bombshell that it wasn't so much a caravan park we were going to, as a holiday park, and it did specify smart casual dress for dinner. So I would have had to choose some nice evening stuff. And pack it. And change into it and wear it on the holiday. And at around midnight last night I still hadn't packed anything. So I decided not to go.

I feel a bit bad about it really, because I feel like I'm letting my parents down a bit, and I'd told my oldest nephew I was coming and he was really excited, and I'm missing out on a holiday obviously. But I just felt so much better when I'd decided I wasn't going than when I thought I was, so there doesn't seem to be much point just putting myself through the ringer when I wasn't even that happy about going.

So anyway. I've been to town and bought food for a week. I've had a quick course on how to use the dishwasher. My dad's told me not to turn off all the lights in the house I'm not using like I usually do, but to leave one or two on, or else burglars will probably come. And I've been told not only do I have to get up early to feed the dog, as I'd realised, but it'll have to be about 7.30 or 8.00-ish. I might try leaving it till 9.00. And I'm going to have to clear up our dog's droppings, which I was sort of hoping I could just leave for a week and not look at. I can't.

But anyway, yes. I'm on my own for a week. Hurrah (sort of).