In countdown
Off to see Cowboy on Thursday! I spent the weekend packing.
The sitting room is a mess: stacks of clothes divided into "won't fit", "don't like" and "jeez, why did I buy that??" , but the suitcase is pretty much packed now. I just need to go out this lunch time and buy sun-slap, film and batteries.
I've had the suitcase sitting on the sofa for most of the previous week, and I'd noticed that it had a very distinctive "rubbery" smell - or so I thought. This morning I fished my camera bag out from its hiding place in the alcove behind the sofa only to find the squishy remains of a dead mouse plastered along one side. I've scrubbed the lino floor and the camera bag, but it may be beyond rescuing, especially as I'm going to spend 10 hours or so with it in the recycled atmosphere of a sealed plane. I'm still feeling the urge to wash my hands every ten minutes or so.
I know I should be more excited, but frankly I'm dreading the journey out there. Nothing to do with the recent tendency of pilots to try and land the plane simultaneously on several different runways =o\ but because I have a horrendous transfer. I have three hours to do immigration, baggage reclaim, customs and then taxi across town to catch the domestic flight. If I miss it, then I'll have to re-book and maybe stay overnight in the city. I wish I could just settle to the idea that it'll all just work itself out, but my doomed fatalism keeps being unseated by hope.
The sitting room is a mess: stacks of clothes divided into "won't fit", "don't like" and "jeez, why did I buy that??" , but the suitcase is pretty much packed now. I just need to go out this lunch time and buy sun-slap, film and batteries.
I've had the suitcase sitting on the sofa for most of the previous week, and I'd noticed that it had a very distinctive "rubbery" smell - or so I thought. This morning I fished my camera bag out from its hiding place in the alcove behind the sofa only to find the squishy remains of a dead mouse plastered along one side. I've scrubbed the lino floor and the camera bag, but it may be beyond rescuing, especially as I'm going to spend 10 hours or so with it in the recycled atmosphere of a sealed plane. I'm still feeling the urge to wash my hands every ten minutes or so.
I know I should be more excited, but frankly I'm dreading the journey out there. Nothing to do with the recent tendency of pilots to try and land the plane simultaneously on several different runways =o\ but because I have a horrendous transfer. I have three hours to do immigration, baggage reclaim, customs and then taxi across town to catch the domestic flight. If I miss it, then I'll have to re-book and maybe stay overnight in the city. I wish I could just settle to the idea that it'll all just work itself out, but my doomed fatalism keeps being unseated by hope.