Ah, Italy. You divine creature, you!

*Sigh*

Oh, seriously people, if you get the chance to go to Italy - GO! It's such a beautiful country, even the grotty bits. Italy shines and sparkles and twinkles and entices you in. It scrambles into your heart and won't let go.

The girls and I took the train - cheap, but ridiculously time-consuming, given the distance: 4h20 to Nice (but oh! the scenery...), then hang about a bit there, then 50 mins to Ventimiglia (via Monaco and St Raphaël and Cap d'Ail...), then hang about there for a longer bit, then just over 2 more hours to Genova.

We splurged on a taxi to the hotel, we arrived at our hotel in style.

Words fail me. Our room looked out over what should have been a pretty grim site: dockyards, a cloverleaf junction and flyover, cranes. But even that was glorious. We looked directly on to the famous Lantern, dating back to God knows when (but pre Christopher Columbus, anyway, waaaaay before), the sun was setting, the sky was blue and green and orange and pink, the cranes looked like giant red and white giraffes. It was stunning. Of course, I didn't take a picture. But I did take one the day we left, early, early in the morning:

I know it doesn't look much (I guess I take rubbish pictures) but I love this juxtaposition - the ancient Lantern, the modern docks. The sea stretching out in the background. Swoon.

We stayed for a week, and it flew by. We did so many things, yet still have so much more to visit next time (and yes, there will be a next time, I hope). We ate pasta and pizza and icecream (not together, you understand). We stroked sting rays. (Stroked. sting. rays!!!) We went into a real submarine. We visited the house Christopher Columbus grew up in. We visited the pirate ship made for Polanski's film. We went up in a panoramic lift thing ("Bigo"), 40 m above ground, with spectacular views over the city:

It was a magical, magical week and I am soooo glad we went. Yes, my debts are suffocating me (direct debits being refused, credit cards blocked...) but it was worth the expense, truly worth it. Especially as we didn't spend very much at all (thanks to my dad giving me money for my birthday and me squirrelling it away).

Ah, Italy. Would that I could return RIGHT NOW.

Soon, my friend, soon. I will be back. My heart belongs to you.

Ciao, Bellissima!

Andiamo!

Everything is, once again, a bit last minute. I didn't even go and see our neighbour about looking after Tom till 8 pm (no idea what I would have done if she couldn't have done it...). But I'm just about ready.

The bags are packed, the tickets bought and verified and put in my hand bag; the laundry has been done, so have the dishes. I've cleaned out the fridge of all the stuff that needed to be thrown out/given away. I've cleared my e-mail in-box down from about 900 mails to less than 150; I've noted down addresses for future postcards.

We're almost ready! I just need to make our picnic, check bus times to the station for tomorrow morning, nip round to the post office with invoices needing to be sent out, have my shower and sleep.

If all goes to plan, this time tomorrow, the girls and I should be fast asleep in our beds in the Novotel in Genoa. I am beyond excited, I really am.

I also booked a 2-week holiday for my dad in an apartment in Palavas for the last week of August/first week of September. The girls will most likely spend the first week with him, but then they go back to school so he'll be alone for the second one (though after a week often on his own with the girls, he'll almost certainly need it!).

I'm kind of looking forward to it, though I feel sick at the thought of having to ask him to give me all the money I need to pay D his "share" of my flat. It's a huge amount of money and, even though it will mean that the flat is finally in my name only, it's still basically a huge gift to D. Especially as the solicitors' fees are almost half again.

The thing is, D is making noises about this again - talking of arranging meetings with solicitors and so on, so I know I can't put it off much longer. I did vaguely broach the subject the last time my dad was here, and he seemed OK with it. But it's not so much that I'm scared he'll say no, it's more that I'm so embarrassed at being such a huge failure in life that I can't even pay my ex his share of this flat (bearing in mind it amounts to only about 10% of the value of the whole place).

But I'm going to try and stop thinking about that for now. I want to focus on what I hope will be a good week ahead - I love Italy, some of my favourite holidays have been in there and I'm sure this one will be just as good.

Andiamo!

Really?

Is it really nearly midnight already? This day just... sort of... didn't really happen for me today. I went to bed too late, got up too late, made lunch, faffed, napped, did a little shopping and then watched crap on TV. And now it's nearly midnight.

Wow.

It's amazing how much you can non-achieve when you set your mind to it. I haven't been bored all day, I haven't done anything either.

This must be what "holiday" means!

Yeah!

Gone

He said he'd be here between 9 and 10 this morning, but he actually arrived at 11.15, by which time the girls (who'd been ready since 9.45) were a frenzied mess of anticipation and impatience. They left at 11.30 and arrived at their destination around 9 pm.

They'll be eating their supper right now, and then they'll take their pyjamas from their little red suitcases and, hopefully, find the surprises I packed without them knowing: a postcard telling them how much I love them, a magazine to read during rainy afternoons (of which there are set to be many, if the weather forecasts are to be believed).

I've achieved nothing today because I screwed up yesterday and forgot to post my quarterly VAT bill, meaning I had to trek right out of town to deliver it by hand so as not to face penalty charges this afternoon. But tomorrow will be better.

I'm just relieved they've arrived safe and sound.

I miss them so much already.

Going

The suitcases are packed, the postcards from me (to be found at bedtime, to remind them of me) have been written and hidden under the pyjamas, the picnic is ready in the fridge. Tomorrow morning, D will turn up, supposedly "between 9 and 10" (ha!) and take my girls, my sweet, sweet girls away from here, far away, all the way to the Loire Valley for a whole week.

My heart aches and tears well up in my eyes way too easily.

We fight all the time, they're bored at home and so far July-with-Maman has been pretty crap, so I totally understand why they're so excited. And I know, once I've been reassured that they've arrived safely and that my god-awful MIL hasn't done anything ridiculous, that I will probably have a pretty good week. But it's still hard. It still tears me apart, this not-going-on-holiday-together thing. I can't bear to think of them so far away.

That said, I do have great plans for this week (they'll be home next Tuesday night). Admittedly, these plans seem to focus heavily on watching-crap-on-TV and eating-crap and sleeping, but plans are plans, after all. I also have work to do and a shitload of tidying, sorting, throwing out, cleaning and rearranging. I will have to force myself to leave the house (I realised this afternoon, when I was out running a few errands, that I hadn't actually left the house since Wednesday...), but I fully intend to make the most of this week.

I'm quite looking forward to being able to get things done without feeling guilty, to being able to listen to whatever music I like, watch whatever I like... I have plans, and I hope to make the most of this time.

But that doesn't mean I don't hate it, hate that it has to be like this, hate that holidays will always be like this from now on.

And nothing will ever stop me having minor panic attacks about the safety of my girls - it's a long drive, bad weather is planned and, whilst D is a good and responsible driver, you can't always guarantee that others are, and that freaks me out.

I won't rest tomorrow till I know they've arrived, then next Tuesday will be the same, until they get home.

I know this is utterly pathetic, that millions of kids go on holiday without their parents every year, but it's not just that they're going on holiday without me. It's the why and how of it all, the pain that I'm still feeling, the anger I'm still feeling towards D and his behaviour, the hatred of my crappy life.

Holiday

Today's word is HOLIDAY.

It's a concept that's been on my mind for a while, what with the half-term break looming (it started - for the girls, anyway - last Friday; schools go back on Monday 14 March).

Last half-term (October-November) I took the girls to see my dearest friends in England and we had a great time. This time, D is taking the girls to Paris to stay with his mother. They leave tomorrow (Thursday) at lunchtime and will be back the Thursday after, around 6 pm.

I'm not sure that I'm ever going to get used to this shared parenting thing. It breaks my heart that they're going on holiday, with HIM, but without ME. These last few days (weeks, months), there's been a lot of shouting - I seem to have to spend all my time shouting at them, sometimes really shrieking, just to get them to do the smallest of things - yet the idea of them not being here is killing me.

I'm trying to convince myself that I'll use this week wisely. But we all know I most likely won't. I do have a shitload of work to do, and I'll be teaching as normal next week (my half-term from teaching is only this week), but I'd still like to get stuff done. Some tidying, some sorting, some packing (D's stuff, into boxes, out of my life), some (very, very minimal) DIY... But the most likely outcome is that I work, eat crap, stay up late and sleep all day.

What was yesterday's word, again? Oh, yeah. Right. Discipline.

Hmmmm

I'm also starting to think about the summer. I want to go away somewhere with the girls, like last year when we went to Bilbao. It wasn't ideal, but it was fun all the same. I'm thinking of Italy (dreaming of Italy, in fact) but right now, I can't do anything about it. First, I need dates from my friend J in England - they're coming to our area either around 23/7 for 10 days, or for two weeks from 13/8, so until I know their dates for sure I can't book anything. But I can't book anything anyway because I'm so seriously broke (one of my credit cards isn't working because of "insufficient funds"). I've taken on huge amounts of work to try and ease the overdraft, but it's a long term thing.

So, I'm dreaming of a holiday, of relaxing in the summer sun somewhere with my little girls; I'm dreading them going away this week and leaving me alone, but they leave tomorrow and I have to fold their clothes, kiss them goodnight one last time and wave them off without sobbing, which will be hard.

Holiday. A lovely word, full of promise and adventure. But only if you get to go.