I wrote this yesterday, because today I am busy.
I haven’t been overseas for a little while, for a couple of years, in fact, because... Well, I’m not sure exactly why.
We don’t do holidays, although we’re planning for that to change in the not-too-distant future, and I’m a nervous traveller, although I’m beginning to tackle that, now, too.
Today, though, as you are reading this, I’m tearing about doing the last bits of packing. (No, I’m really not, because even when I’m not calm, I feign calm; I can’t stand surface panic, so I don’t allow it to happen to me). Or I am in a car on the way to the airport with the husband and our luggage, or I am sitting in an airport lounge, boarding a plane, or sitting on said plane eating re-heated food from a tray, watching movies, reading a book, or, hopefully, sleeping. I might, I suppose, have landed on the other side of the Atlantic ocean, if you’re coming to this blog late in the day, but, whenever it is that you are reading it, I wrote this blog yesterday, because today is a travelling day, and nothing is going to get in the way of that.
Today needs to be properly planned, because I need it to go smoothly. If there is a hitch today, a glitch or a snafu, it won’t be because of me; it can’t be because of me!
Travelling makes me nervous. I was born in the wrong century. Anything faster than a walk unsettles me. I’m suspicious of tunnels, so the Dartford Tunnel is a bit of a white knuckle ride for me, and the Lincoln Tunnel is no better; don’t even get me started on the... now which is it? Is it the Rotherhithe Tunnel that gives me a panic attack every time or is that the Blackwall? Anyway tunnels and me, not a marriage made in heaven. Trains are OK, but monorails freak me out; ships are cool, but speedboats and jet-skis are a total no-no; aeroplanes had better be damned big! Yes, I know that’s counterintuitive. I know that air is, by definition, thin, so you’d think that smaller would be better, but once you start going smaller you’ve got to deal with turbulence, and, you know, my claustrophobia... I did warn you.
That’s why I have to plan properly, because I can’t be the one to cause the hitch, the glitch or the snafu. The poor husband has quite enough to deal with, thank you very much, without me going off-piste in a bloody airport, or worse still, on an actual aeroplane.
So, I wrote this yesterday. I wrote this when I was still relatively sane, when the bags were yet to be packed, when the insurance documents were still on the desk, and when I still knew where my passport was. I wrote this when Gemma’s jelly babies were bagged up and the house sitter was on the way. I wrote this when the husband was still at his desk, whistling, oblivious to the stuff that might fall out of my head at any moment once the bags were actually packed and breakfast was on the table and I was committed...
No... Not like that... It’s not that bad... Not yet!