Song of the day – Down in the Tube Station at Midnight by The Jam
Hollie’s sat watching You’ve Been Framed whilst I sit here quietly panicking at the prospect of an eleven hour flight tomorrow. I suppose I’ve come a long way considering that three years ago the best holiday I could expect was a wet weekend in Skeg, but I don’t think I’ll ever 100% crack this flying malarkey. I’m actually much better once I’m on the plane than I am in the days and hours before the flight – this is called anticipatory anxiety, and it’s horrible. It’s times like this when I wish we had one of those Star Trek transporter things that could just beam us over to Bangkok, or that Hollie could smack me over the head with a massive hammer and I can wake up 24 hour later with a headache in my desired destination – it’d be a fair price to pay.
Having said all this above, we’ve just watched a clip on You’ve Been Framed of a labrador riding a skateboard and it’s cheered me up. This is what it’s like – I get waves of dread about flying that can all of a sudden lift, at which point I feel really hyper and excitable until another wave of dread hits me. The labrador effect will hopefully last all night and see me through to the morning when a new wave of panic can begin.
Today has been manic. I quite like London when we go down to see a mate and get drunk, or go sightseeing, but when you’re trying to get from A to B in the minimum time possible it’s an absolute nightmare. We nipped to Camden post office in a torrential downpour to obtain an international driving permit each, before fighting our way over to Hounslow West on the tube. It was a mile walk from the tube to the Travelodge through driving rain and wind whilst jumbo jets thundered overhead. I’m not expecting your sympathy – after all we are going on holiday for four months – but by the time we got to the hotel room our backs were knackered (we’ve definitely overpacked) and we’d not eaten all day. On top of this my shoes have holes in them which had allowed the rain in. My shoes are basically sandals but I can’t bring myself to call them that because I associate sandals with old blokes who spend their summers flip-flopping around from one National Trust property to the next in them with their poorly-cut fungal toenails sticking out the end. I think I’ll chuck out my shandals when we get to the hostel – they’re not even that comfy.
That’s enough for now. I’m off to psych myself up for flying by shouting at myself in the mirror and throwing water in my face like Rocky, whilst listening to Eye of the Tiger.