Right, we're off to the airport in a minute, after a litany of travel-type disasters yesterday. Serves me right for having a moan about being tired -- our hotel room on Saturday night was nice, but seemed to have been built directly over the WORLD'S LARGEST EXTRACTOR FAN, which wrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrred all night. Those low, subsonic never ending noises that get louder and louder the longer you hear them. So very little sleep for beardy Stuart.
And on the way home from the train station, the clutch cable went BANG! on the 4Trak. And that damn thing is a big bastard to push. Which means packing got done at midnight with much shuffling and groaning. Real George Romero, Pre-Holiday Activities of the Living Dead, style stuff. And as soon as my knackered, beleaguered bonce hit the pillow... 'ping!' wide awake.
So today I resemble a half-shut knife that's been left in a septic tank for about a month.
Still, I'm hoping now that we've got all our crappy travel woes behind us, and everything will be plain sailing till we get back on Saturday.
The In-Laws are up looking after Grendel while we're away (in case you're wondering, I'm leaving the cat in charge). I've asked Little Miss not to post any photos of dead mice on here while I'm gone, but you know what she's like...
Labels: Book Number The Fifth, Stuff about me