Coming to America

Those of you still sitting on the edge of your seats wondering if I still look like a tiger, you can relax and stand down the vigil. For reasons yet unknown, the third application of fake tan worked a whole lot better than the previous two, so while I still don’t look entirely human (it would take more than a fake tan to achieve that, alas), it doesn’t totally suck. Phew!

Other than that… well, my bags are packed, I’m ready to go, the taxi’s waiting outside the door and all that. The lead-up to this trip has been so totally exhausting for me (and I’m going back a few weeks here, because I had to start the preparation then, in terms of doing all the work I would normally have done during the time I’ll be away in advance) that so far I’ve not even had time to worry about the flight, and actually, at this point I’m almost looking forward to it as the first time in months where I will be able to just sit on my ass and read a book for a few hours without having to do anything more taxing than turn around to glare at the child that’s kicking the back of my seat every so often. Oh, and pray that we don’t suddenly drop out of the sky in a fiery ball, obviously.

Of course, I did wake up several times last night with my heart racing and my stomach churning at the very thought of setting foot inside an aircraft, and today, in between packing and wondering whether nine white vest tops really is too much, and if seven may well be sufficient, I have found time to gaze sadly around my home in the certain knowledge that I am going to my death and will never see it again. Which has made the day very cheerful, I have to say.

We do have Internet access at the rental house, apparently, so the intention is to blog the trip, but we all know how successful I was at doing that last time (i.e not AT ALL), so Twitter may be your best bet if you really feel you can’t sleep without knowing if I’m still alive/how much money I’ve spent in Sephora.

Right. I still have a million things to do, including dropping Rubin of at Terry’s mum’s house, where he will enjoy two week’s worth of being treated like a very hairy grandchild, and eating his own bodyweight in treats, so bye for now, folks and see you on the other side… (Of either the Atlantic or of… well, death, basically. Let’s hope it’s the former, but this would make a really rubbish last entry for you all to remember me by…)