Notes from a small suitcase

This is a blatant lie. My suitcase is not small, the problem is probably the amount of rubbish I’m trying to pack into it. In fact I don’t believe I can get one an awful lot larger than I have… I’m leaving on Sunday and my general unpreparedness is worrying. I do have somewhere to live, and as Ford Prefect urges I have a towel. Two actually, bath sheets the pair of them. Taking a leap into the unknown is a worrying thing to do, but I do feel sometimes like a mountain is being made out of a mole-hill, albeit a reasonably sized mole-hill.

Everything happened, as usual, at the last moment. The bank have been unhelpful, the tax man more so. Sometimes I feel quite glad to be leaving Britain behind, but it’s more than just unhelpful functionaries. Saying that my French and German friends are, by and large, already in abroad, which means I’m a long way behind them, some have even been issued with their chalk and set to getting dusty teaching.

And so, I shall now go and stamp on my suitcase and bully the contents into submission. Huzzah!