AIDA AUSTIN: 'God knows how anyone has an affair with a human the lying is bad enough when it’s only a bike'

MONDAY. I’ve been having a secret love affair for two weeks but have managed to keep it on the down-low. Heaven forbid my husband should ever discover that I’ve fallen in love. With an old bike.

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AIDA AUSTIN: Personally, I don’t mind a bit of wrinkle. It shows it’s been washed

Our first Airbnb booking arrives this afternoon; my husband is strimming the back garden and I am on the phone to my sister.

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AIDA AUSTIN: Clean the bathroom with a toothbrush. You can’t be too careful about hair, particularly the pubic variety

I’M thinking of doing Airbnb. I tell a friend.

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AIDA AUSTIN: Perhaps my ego is about to be stroked

If you’re a maker of any sort, as I am, you’ll know that your ego is at least partially dependent upon your ability to sell what you make. 

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AIDA AUSTIN: 'If the plane goes down, we both die. I don’t suppose we’ve got a will sorted?'

Driving towards Cork Airport to catch a flight, “I feel a bit odd,” my husband says.

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AIDA AUSTIN: She was far too busy flirting to bother with a menopause

Never having had a menopause herself because she “had to have the whole blasted contraption whipped out at 40,” my mother is curious to hear about mine. “So,” she says on the phone, “how’s it going? Are you still boiling to death?”

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AIDA AUSTIN: When people die here, they have lots of sort of… get-togethers

The first time we revisit England after moving to Ireland, we get stuck in weekend traffic going west out of London.

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AIDA AUSTIN: I have two pairs of shutters on the windows and a twitch in both eyes

Last summer in Lefkada, I took a photograph of a pair of window shutters; double-panel, hardwood, painted palest sunbleached olive.

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AIDA AUSTIN: If you just tell me where we’re staying I will still be surprised

Aida Austin illustrates how unpredictable and yet comical travelling can be once the plans are out of your hands.

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AIDA AUSTIN: That’s why people go on cruises, you know. They eat all day and all night

Monday morning and I’m at home, returning a Whatsapp call from my mother that kept dropping earlier this morning.

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AIDA AUSTIN: I’m not even taking parent plants. I’m just re-homing their babies

10am Saturday. I’m about to wake my husband in order to put to him my plans for the day. Best to do this with fresh coffee; I’m expecting an oppositional response.

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AIDA AUSTIN: We live in a town now, so we can’t pass the filth of the car off as country dirt

8pm. My brother and mother are flying from London to see our new home tomorrow. I’m Whatsapping them photographic evidence of refurbishments to set their minds at rest.

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