I AM going on holiday tomorrow. I have been excited about it for weeks.

The LOML, the child, the child’s friend, the dog and I are going to Cornwall. Ok, so it’s not Barbados, but we thought a week in a medieval house complete with secret passageways, open fields and a river would please everyone.

It’s in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods and I have spent at least an hour trying to track down a supermarket that delivers – to no avail.

The traffic is predicted to be bad and so we are bound to arrive in this far-flung hamlet past midnight and I don’t think the house has electricity.

Already my holiday is looking not so much Famous Five but more Withnail and I.

So now I’m knee-deep in packing. The reality of trying to fit four fairly large bags, two fishing rods, a metal detector, a remote-controlled boat, the dog’s bed, half a ton of overly fancy beads and bangles – you never know – and numerous head scarves into a small car has just hit home.

You may be thinking that is just two adults and two children, but children these days are virtual giants.

Their feet will only fit into special shoes donated by passing clowns. They grow out of their clothes seemingly every two weeks – hardly surprising as each day they eat their own body weight in food.

Then there’s my stuff. I’ve been to Cornwall before so I’m determined to be prepared for all weather-related scenarios. And I’m taking two pairs of wellies – surely I can wear them with everything?

Oh, and then there’s the sun cream, windbreak, umbrella, extra blankets.

My nerves are frazzled but the child is excited.

The dog is feeling neglected and is pestering me for walks. I am hungry and have yet to cook supper.

The LOML, on the other hand, has already packed his one smallish bag and is sitting in the lounge, without a care in the world.

I can hear the sound of raucous laughter, and his ridiculous impersonation of Homer Simpson.

Lucky him, feeling the holiday spirit so soon.

I am doing my best to stay calm. I have only flounced off in a strop once, slamming the door behind me.

An effort that was completely wasted as he never even noticed.

Maybe I would be less panicky if I’d started earlier.

But this morning I was very busy having my legs waxed and painting my toenails – packing didn’t really occur to me until much later in the day.

And then I had to pick up the fishing rods from my Dad, who decided to take a trip down Memory Lane for several hours.

The child and I were forced to listen to tales of the Bate family of old, apparently all ancient mariners hailing from the Liskeard, Clovelly and the like.

By the time we left it was nearing dusk and then the panic sort of set in.

And right now, all this little piggy wants to do is stay at home.