Tomorrow I go on holiday for a week.

I shall leave this strange isle where extremely condescending right-wing politicians arrive on the radio each morning and speak to me as though I’m a rancid pile of intestines clinging to their Eton-approved brogues.

I shall leave behind all crucial news of what Katie Hopkins thinks about black people (hint: she’s not totally keen on them), what Princess Kate is wearing (hint: it will look exactly like what she wore yesterday i.e. posh) and why Amanda Holden is photographed naked on a pile of veg (hint: she’s vegetarian and wants us plebs to just like STOP killing animals, ok?)

I shall leave behind the fags smoked shivering in outdoor shelters and the pissy but pricey wine endured in English bars.

I shall leave behind youngest’s hateful school-run (a misleading term which implies actual running instead of driving and then dragging) and eldest’s hateful exam revision (you’d think she was studying to be the Pope) and Gwyneth’s hateful veg-juicing (the machine is too heavy to pack – HOORAY).

This morning I gave Gwyneth a job to do: get some snacks for the journey. I meant chocs and crisps and sweets; normal snacking items. He came back with a packet of brazil nuts, a bag of organic apples and some dried apricots…

My packing involves clothes and toiletries and fags and Lotus biscuit-spread and custard creams. Gwyneth’s packing begins with making space for sacks of nuts and seeds. However, this is why he still fits into last year’s summer clothes, and I do not. (Even my flip-flops are too small – I shit you not).

If I try to blog while on holiday, Gwyneth will melt my phone on the barbecue. However, I am likely to have a brilliant argument with each member of the family at least once, at which point I will retreat to a sunlounger and send you highly aggressive snippets…

Adios Amigos…