Chicken – Headless

I like travelling. Actually, that’s not completely true. I hate enclosed spaces, buses, shared youth hostel dormitories since turning 22, buses, take-offs, landings, queuing, the price of water in air-side kiosks and repeatedly having to say loudly ‘I have bought a t-i-c-k-e-t for my cello’.

But, you know, apart from that I like travelling.

It doesn’t seem to matter how often I do it, I still end up doing everything at the last minute. This time has been no exception, and therefore I found myself today, 24 hours pre-travelling, trying to sort out my parents’ birthday presents which have to be dispatched to arrive whilst I am away. They’re very nice, but made for a muddled shopping trip in the midst of my travel purchases.

The hardened traveller knows all they need are comfy shoes, a sturdy bag with at least as many pockets as there are Eastern European countries, trousers with pockets large enough to hold a passport, and some polo mints.

Today my shopping list was somewhat elaborate in comparison. First there was the do-we don’t-we conundrum of the travel plug. I’ve never bought one yet always seem to have one when needed (thanks to the lovely Sarah who must have a secret stash), so this always leaves me thinking I need one. Then there was satin material. About 1.5 metres – something no traveler should be without in case of a need to look ‘dressy’. In fact to wrap the cello in case it flies upside-down. Shoe deodorant, because the bin in the kitchen can no longer be regarded as the sole source of the smell that seems to be lingering in the hallway. Bubble wrap to wrap the aforementioned birthday swag in. So not your normal  lotion and loafers.

Then Starbucks were handing out free coffees. This left me wondering, has some osmic force decided I need a bit of r&r, or is it warning me I need a caffeine injection if I’m going to be ready in time? Is it possible to feel grateful and resentful at the same time? Our survey says ‘yes’.

So, 5am check-in on Sunday here we come. I see not only the forces of the great SB are at work – I arrived home to see only two-thirds of the M4 Eastbound were only passable by small yacht. So that’s trial by coffee, trial by water, and I foresee at least a trial by lack of sleep and trial by security guard – ‘a cello, you say, sir? And does, aforementioned cello have a seat and passport?’.

Oslo, here we come. You’d better be in the middle of Summer, or there’ll be trouble…