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 hours. 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 was a nightmare. How can anyone predict what they might need to cover all eventualities for the next few months? Yes, my backsack is taller than my wardrobe, but it can’t hold as much, even with the additional rucksack that zips onto it. It’s taken me 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 shoes and the dog. I just can’t get them in.

Shit. Bev just text. Too late to change my mind now. They’re outside. It would never occur to her to get out of the car and ring the doorbell.

The girls have been saving up for this 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 on this ‘trip of a lifetime’ I’ve done a lot of sitting. In cars, in airports, and now in the arse-end of a Boeing 787. I’d planned on killing time reading Bill Bryson’s book ‘Down Under’, but on the first page he explains that there are more things to kill you in Australia than anywhere else on Earth and that even the fluffiest of caterpillars can kill you “with a single toxic nip.” I’ve put it down as I was getting palpitations.

The three of us have donned hideously unfashionable airline-supplied surgical stockings, which I’m told will stop us from dying in mid-air due to blood clots. The first of several airplane meals has already been and gone, and it looked like the offspring of a roast dinner and a Rubik’s cube. Bev picked up something that resembled 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!”

It’s all very exciting. So far, there’s been no major drama to report, although Rachel had to down her iced tea because it looked like a suspicious liquid, and Bev briefly wondered if she’d packed a gun and forgotten about it (“why do I always feel so guilty?”). Meanwhile, I got more action than I’ve had in ages from the guy at customs because he gave me such a thorough ‘wanding’ I offered him a tip.

We’ve only been out of Essex a few hours 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. Besides, who could possibly stay miserable with Bev sitting next to them? She’s such a ditz! The pilot just made an announcement and she got a bit over excited.

“We’re about to land in Hong Kong? I had NO idea that was in Australia!”