Nothing screams of the romance of travel like the mandatory nose fuck you have to give yourself before travelling. The swab goes up the nose, there's the argy-bargy with the test tubes and droppers and the like, then the wait. This is more a courtesy than a necessity. I'm well. Negative. But I'll also be with a group of people for the weekend from all over the country, it's nice to know you're clear of this insidious disease.
Anyway, I'm nearly packed.
Two pairs of knickers, my bathers, just in case, a pair of runners, ones that I don't mind getting destroyed with mud and sand. A cardigan. A change of clothes or two. And my glasses.
In my toiletries bag there's a lot of buscopan (the anti-spasmodic which is keeping my gall bladder in check) Some lavender oil to help me sleep in a strange bed. Lots of sample bottles of lotions and potions - enough to tie me over for the weekend.
My red comb - the comb I've been using since I was a teenager, is in there. I won't forget my hairbrush this time. I often forget to take a hairbrush.
There's my writing stuff - notebook, pens, the laptop mouse and keyboard. And of course the cables - you are tethered to the world by the cables. iPhone. Computer. Apple Watch. General USB...
I've also shoved in my No Shits Given tarot deck, some tarot cards.
And a book.
And my crochet.
I think I'm sorted.
The leaves are starting to turn on the tree out the front. The ivy, which is snaking up an aerial cable out on the side of the building is starting to wither.
I've finally had the time to notice these things.
Apollo Bay, here I come.
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