Something about my upcoming trip is making me very aspirational.
I’m imaging myself looking stylish and elegant even in stifling heat, springing out of bed every morning bright eyed and bushy tailed, speaking fluent Italian to everyone I meet, and reading classic novels in my downtime.
Fact is, I’m going to be a chubby, sweaty, whining, English mess in the heat. I can deal with this. I’ll probably drink too much wine on a night and regret booking trains so early when I have to drag myself out of my bed at the crack of dawn. Such is life My Italian language skills will probably fail me at the most inopportune moments. That’s fine
The classic novels? I think I might be able to manage them. I have two plane journeys and five train journeys to fill.
So far I’ve decided on The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, 20 Thousand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne, and The Thirty-Nine Steps by John Buchan and Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. Chances are I won’t read anywhere near all of them in 10 days, but I’m going to take them along and see which takes my fancy.