I’ve never really been a planner.
Before having the children, holidays tended to be a last minute affair. If I’m honest, work often went the same way.
I have been known to wander off to America, New Zealand and Australia on my own at the last minute.
There was also the occasion when a friend and I booked a trip to Venezuela against all advice. We’d had a bottle of wine, we didn’t care.
Both of those trips were amazing and I wouldn’t change them for the world.
Let’s face it, how many people will be able to tell their grandchildren that they stayed with a tribe in an equatorial rainforest, sleeping in hammocks and washing in a river with piranhas and crocodiles?
Or, slightly more worryingly, that they ended up at gunpoint in a car with a drunk Venezuelan and lived to tell the tale?
When it comes to work, if I’m honest I’m still the same.
It drives me mad when people who dislike their job drag everyone else down. So, whenever I’ve reached that stage where work has started to become stale I just quit and find a new challenge.
This is often at the last minute. Such as the “lifetime career” that I quit with 20 minutes thinking time in order to give a month’s notice when I was offered something else.
Or the well paid management job that I walked away from to work from home so I could look after my children.
My husband is much more highly strung than me and tends to be more of a worrier and a planner.
Surprisingly, this works out quite well. I suppose they do say opposites attract.
But on weeks like this, I can’t help thinking that spontaneity really does have its place.
This weekend, we planned a couple of days away.
Hubby has booked a campsite and made arrangements with family so that the whole weekend is planned out.
There’s even an airshow for us to watch.
Last night, I even made a little plan of my own.
A good friend had a baby this week and I arranged to go and see my friend and meet her beautiful daughter today.
I confirmed at lunch time what time I’d be arriving and sat there smugly thinking how organised I am.
This lasted at least a minute and a half.
Then it was time to get Libby ready for her afternoon nap.
She was wearing a dress, so she took that off to put her nightie on to sleep in.
As she dithered around deciding which way round her nightie went, I caught sight of a strange rash on her chest.
Which by this evening had spread to most of her body.
I’m no medic, but I’ve got a horrible feeling it’s chickenpox.
So much for best laid plans.
I think I’ll go back to being spontaneous. It suited me much better and let’s face it, children have no respect for plans.
And neither do spots, or so it would seem.