So, it looks like I haven't lost interest yet. That can only be a good thing, right? Well, I've worked out how to stick photos and links on here, so as learning curves go it isn't proving too overtly strenuous.
We're still in the middle of a suitcase/clothes maelstrom here in the wilds of Yorkshire. Hopefully all the packing will be sorted by the morrow. I take on more of an advisory role in these things; I hand over my list of requirements to my dear lady wife - in my best hand-writing on a crisp sheet of two-holed, yellow file paper - she then crosses half the items off said list (apparently five pairs of jeans is excessive, even for a month long trip) and packs the rest whilst I take refuge in the pub. It's worked like a dream for the past decade and I'm very much a believer of the not broke/don't fix adage.
Generally, I return from the pub to find her sitting atop a particularly recalcitrant case (usually having sunk a bottle of red while packing it), swearing like only a Yorkshire girl can and trying to get it to close over a partly compressed mass of underwear and beach towels. My added weight is normally enough to rectify the situation, but then, of course, we have to weigh the damn things.
Airlines seem to be decreasing their weight allowances for luggage at such an alarming rate that we'll soon be permitted little more than a clean pair of trolleys in a Tesco carrier bag before being charged for excess baggage. Actually, come to think of it, we won't even be allowed that; after all, obtaining a carrier bag from Tesco is now deemed tantamount to building an oil-fired power station on the Antartic ice shelf, or going off on a panda poaching expedition. What we need is for Madonna to fly half way around the world on her fuel guzzling private jet so that she can stand on a stage with amps and lighting that require the power output of a small nation and tell us not to leave our telly on stand-by.
Yeah, that should save the planet. And I bet she gets all the baggage allowance she needs and more. She probably packs a brace of African orphans in a couple of pet carriers to boot.
Anyway, we're allowed 30Kg (and that's travelling business class - the poor schmucks in cattle class have barely enough allowance to fit a spare shell-suit and a Burberry cap in their fluorescent case). That's not a lot for a month long holiday, but with the help of hotel laundry services we should survive. Just my hand luggage to pack now - I'm proud to say I do this all on my ownsome; Book, Mac, Bose QC2 noise-cancelling headphones (indispensable when travelling with a toddler), iPod and selection of DVDs all to hand and I'm ready for the off.
Just the small matter of a haircut and completing the purchase of our new house and we're on our way to Hong Kong. Yay.
We're still in the middle of a suitcase/clothes maelstrom here in the wilds of Yorkshire. Hopefully all the packing will be sorted by the morrow. I take on more of an advisory role in these things; I hand over my list of requirements to my dear lady wife - in my best hand-writing on a crisp sheet of two-holed, yellow file paper - she then crosses half the items off said list (apparently five pairs of jeans is excessive, even for a month long trip) and packs the rest whilst I take refuge in the pub. It's worked like a dream for the past decade and I'm very much a believer of the not broke/don't fix adage.
Generally, I return from the pub to find her sitting atop a particularly recalcitrant case (usually having sunk a bottle of red while packing it), swearing like only a Yorkshire girl can and trying to get it to close over a partly compressed mass of underwear and beach towels. My added weight is normally enough to rectify the situation, but then, of course, we have to weigh the damn things.
Airlines seem to be decreasing their weight allowances for luggage at such an alarming rate that we'll soon be permitted little more than a clean pair of trolleys in a Tesco carrier bag before being charged for excess baggage. Actually, come to think of it, we won't even be allowed that; after all, obtaining a carrier bag from Tesco is now deemed tantamount to building an oil-fired power station on the Antartic ice shelf, or going off on a panda poaching expedition. What we need is for Madonna to fly half way around the world on her fuel guzzling private jet so that she can stand on a stage with amps and lighting that require the power output of a small nation and tell us not to leave our telly on stand-by.
Yeah, that should save the planet. And I bet she gets all the baggage allowance she needs and more. She probably packs a brace of African orphans in a couple of pet carriers to boot.
Anyway, we're allowed 30Kg (and that's travelling business class - the poor schmucks in cattle class have barely enough allowance to fit a spare shell-suit and a Burberry cap in their fluorescent case). That's not a lot for a month long holiday, but with the help of hotel laundry services we should survive. Just my hand luggage to pack now - I'm proud to say I do this all on my ownsome; Book, Mac, Bose QC2 noise-cancelling headphones (indispensable when travelling with a toddler), iPod and selection of DVDs all to hand and I'm ready for the off.
Just the small matter of a haircut and completing the purchase of our new house and we're on our way to Hong Kong. Yay.
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