I booked a holiday last month.

Holidays are very important for me as I badly need a break from the stress of doing nothing around the house.  I need to get away to do nothing somewhere else.  A holiday refills my fuel cells, bucks me up and most important of all, gives me the energy to do nothing at home for the rest of the year. 

The people I booked the holiday with are a nice crowd.  They are friendly, courteous and efficient.  Once the booking was made, they sent me all the details – when the holiday is, where to collect the key, emergency phone numbers and all the boring stuff like that.  I remember reading it, and thinking how comprehensive the document was.

Last week, I was having a wee meditative session, and my mind wandered onto the subject of holidays again.  I suddenly realised that I had forgotten all the minor details about the holiday, such as when it is.  Fuck!  For all I know, I could be going next week.  I had a feeling it was in May sometime, but there again, it could be in April or June.

I decided this morning I had better check, so I entered my office.

Entering my office is not for the fainthearted, as it is where I keep Things.

I have found that my life is governed by several laws.  There is Brennan’s Law which states that “perforated paper is always strongest at the perforations”.  Our roll of jax paper is testament to the accuracy of that one.  There is the rule that “the odds on a slice of bread falling butter side down are directly proportional to the cost of the carpet”.  I can testify to that.

One immutable law that seems to be carved in granite somewhere, and haunts my life is the one that states that “nothing is ever needed until the day after it is destroyed, at which time it will become essential”.  I have fallen foul of this law so many times that it is engraved on my heart.  Therefore I keep everything.  Hence the dread of entering the office.

I spent the morning wading knee deep in receipts for packs of tobacco, electricity bills going back to the 80s and manuals for devices that have long since gone to device heaven.  Do you think I could find that fucking letter about the holiday?  Not a fucking chance.

I looked everywhere.  I checked the pile of newspapers dating back to the 60s.  I rummaged through boxes of three and half inch floppies.  I even checked through my old college notes.  Not a sign.

Eventually I had an idea.  Maybe if I could find an email from them, it would give me an idea as to roughly when I booked the holiday, and that in turn would give an inkling as to when the letter was sent.

I rummaged through my Inbox in my mail thingy.  Again, 376,427 emails is quite a lot to go through, but I found one from them.  It told me they were sending me the details.  I noticed a paperclip thingy at the bottom and clicked it.

It was the letter.

The bastards sent it to me in electronic form.

Why can’t people be consistent?  This is making life doubly difficulty for me, as now if I want to find something I have to rummage in the Office and rummage through my Inbox.

You young people have no idea how complicated you are making life.  It used to be simple and now it’s just a mess.

Fuck!

I need a holiday.

But apparently I have to wait ‘til June.