Imminent departure

I had a horrible dream about our holiday last night. We got to the airport and I’d left my passport at home. Then we couldn’t find a taxi. Then the plane had frozen wings so we had to fly there by helicopter. Then we arrived with just our swimsuits, and I’d accidentally booked us in Alaska. Philippa sat there blue in an igloo saying “You’re a hopeless bastard Ches” and I woke up. It took me an hour, and a drink, to calm down and accept it was just a dream. The worst part about the whole thing was the fact that she’d called me ‘Ches’

I still keep checking my checklists. I have checklists reminding me to check all the checklists, and I keep checking where those checklists are. I’ve read and re-read the booking info so much it’s starting to look like an ancient manuscript. I’ve packed and un-packed and re-packed three times, and I’ve put my passport and credit card ‘somewhere safe’ thirty-seven times, and each time in a different location. Right now, they’re in the zip section of my flight bag. At least, I think they are. Or are they? Excuse me for a minute while I go and check…
The build-up to this holiday is going to kill me. Next year I’m going to plan a ‘staycation’ instead and we’ll just stay at home in bed for two weeks.

I have to rush to the loo now. These pre-holiday nerves are playing havoc with my bowels.

RC 9-2-12