Monday 12th November
Bloody hell, Mum is yelling AGAIN.
“KEVIN! Put that diary down and come give me a hug!”
I keep telling her I’ll be down in a second, but she’s been shouting up for three hours now. I don’t know what she’s getting herself so worked up for, she’ll have the dog for company AND my sister up the road and that’s more than I’ll have. A guilt trip is one journey I DON’T want, thank you very much.
Packing has been a complete nightmare. How can anyone prepare for every possible eventuality when you don’t even know how long you’ll be gone for? Yes, my backpack is taller than my wardrobe, but somehow it holds less, even with the additional rucksack zipped to the back like Rachel clinging to Bev. It’s taken seven attempts to pack, each time with lower expectations, and it looks like I’m going to have to go without my Playstation, most of my books and the dog. I just can’t get them in.
Bev just text. They’re OUTSIDE. That’s got the adrenaline going.
Bev’s been here enough times to know not to knock. No point getting the dog involved. It’ll be hard enough leaving the old boy as it is. Really hope he’s still around when I get back…
The girls have been saving for this trip for over a year, whereas I, on the other hand, have two empty credit cards and the urge to be reckless.
Fuck it. I’m off.
7.45pm – Somewhere over Europe
So far, this ‘trip of a lifetime’ has mostly involved sitting. In a car. In an airport. Now I’m sat in the arse-end of a Boeing 787, knees pinned together and one arm trapped under Bev’s bigger boob. I’d planned on killing time reading Bill Bryson’s book ‘Down Under’ but I had to put it down after one chapter. I barely got past the first page before he explained that there are more things to kill you in Australia than anywhere else on Earth. Even the fluffiest of caterpillars can kill you “with a single toxic nip”! I started getting palpitations.
The three of us have donned hideous airline-supplied surgical stockings, which we’re told will stop us from dying in mid-air due to blood clots. That would be a shit start to the trip. The first of several airplane meals has been and gone, resembling some kind of roast dinner / Rubik’s cube hybrid. Bev had scrabbled to pick up a tiny square Yorkshire pudding (it took a few attempts with her long pink nails) and declared, “so THIS is what it feels like to be a giant!” Totally bonkers, but it’s all very exciting so no wonder she’s a bit giddy. No major dramas to report as of yet, unless you count Rachel necking a whole bottle of iced tea at customs because someone told her it looked like a suspicious liquid. Or Bev wondering if she’d accidentally packed a gun and forgotten about it. Meanwhile, I got more action than I’ve had in years from a security officer who gave me such a thorough ‘wanding’ I felt I should offer him a tip.
And here’s the thing. We’ve barely left Essex and I can already feel the weight lifting. I’ve broken into spontaneous whistling twice already (Rachel is counting, which is not a good sign) and although I’m not yet as good as I could be, I’m nowhere near as bad as I was. Who could possibly stay miserable with Bev sitting next to them? She’s such a dork! The pilot just made an announcement and she actually gasped.
“We’re about to land in Hong Kong? I had NO idea that was in Australia!”
