The Great Knicker Tour

Andrew and I are looking forward to our marathon holiday to NZ at the end of Feb. Last time, I was traumatised by the prospect of meeting-the-In-Laws. Having now been exposed to the entire parental contingent, I’m looking forward to this holiday more.

 

On our last trip, we stayed with Craig’s parents, Thursa and Eric, outside Christchurch - and I left a pair of knickers under the bed. They probably looked a bit indecent to anyone over the age of 50 - I had visions of Thursa holding them up and going: “But, where’s this string supposed to go? There… there’s no bottom bit. Eric, I declare this underwear to be the work of the devil.”

 

Much to my mortification, she washed and sent them to Craig and Margaret - which at the time was also a first-impressions sort of encounter. The package arrived after we left, and was opened by Craig and Margaret. This time, my over-active imagination has Craig shouting: “Margaret, the light shines right through these. I don’t know why she’d bother wearing knickers at all.”

 

I was always grateful - if mildly astonished - that the Tale Of The Great Knicker Tour did not feature in the wedding speeches