Getting Away

I don't spend a lot of time fantasizing about vacation destinations, mostly because I'm a realist and know that the next vacation I take--in the distant future--is likely going to involve two small boys and a tent.

A.'s a big proponent of family camping, you know. And I fear that our two sons will agree with him. I find the concept to be about as close to hell as I can imagine, but I suspect that there are many road trips with propane stoves and sleeping bags in my future.

But let's not think about that now. Let's indulge in some escapism instead, shall we?

I don't have a particular destination in mind, I guess, but I think I would like to take a trip in which everything is done for me. Like all the arrangements getting to and from airports and all the hotel bookings, maybe even food. And now that I think about it, for maximum laziness, I suppose it would be in an English-speaking country, because I find attempts to communicate in other languages stressful, but would hate to rely on an interpreter. I've never been anywhere in the British Isles, actually.

Ooo, I know! Here's what I want to do: I want to go on a home and garden tour in England in which every detail is arranged for me via some travel agency like Cook's. Remember Cook's in the Agatha Christie novels? They did everything.

Yeah. A home and garden tour, preferably with some edible gardens involved.

Just as soon as I come into a fabulous inheritance from a mythical relative. And, uh, am not pregnant and all.

So, duckies! When you lull yourself into a stupor in your cubicle dreaming about fantastic vacations*, where do you envision yourself?

* Not that I used to do this when I spent my days in a cubicle. Ahem.