The Day Before Tomorrow

Mental note: I must not be anal. Repeat 100 times.

I must not be anal. I must not be anal. I must not be ...

You know what I mean? Apparently I've been so rude about everyone else that it's time I extracted the Michael out of myself. So here you are:

Yes, I'm measuring the size of Sarah's bag with a tape measure. Go ahead and laugh. I must not be anal, I must not be anal....

So, we leave for Blighty tomorrow morning. We are pretty much ready, thanks to a last minute repair of my jacket by Sylvia. Thanks Sylvia! Lots of love from us all. (I must not be anal, I mu..).

Otherwise, did my last day of work today. Sarah too (she had to write reports for the kids ! She must not be anal, she mu...). Admittedly I did a short day today; about 6 1/2 hours! I reckoned that the longer I was there the greater the chance of getting a new task - so I hid in the toilet for 6 hours (only joking Boss). I must not, I must not...

Came home early to sort Rosie out; fuel, water, oil, air added. She drinks almost as much oil as fuel, which is amusing when you ask them at the garage if they have a barrel rather than the stupid little plastic flasks that pathetic modern cars need. Good old metal barrel with a hand pump (oops, I must not be anal, I must not...).

Sorry. That was marginally out of order.

Anyway. Bags just about packed:

Toothpaste, toothbrush (for the halitosis), haemorrhoid cream, (I must... oh for goodness sake).

Lots of people to see us off. Even saw our Laura in the daylight, so the rumours are not true. Also Sylvia and Rochee (and the other Laura - well done with the results!), and Marijke and Dirk, and Uli, and Nikki and George, and of course Nadine, who will be holding the fort here.

Therefore this is the last post from home. The last post before we join the millions before us who have travelled across the Pond to the Americas, seeking their fortunes and freedom from the evils of religious persecution in Europe and beyond (like France). Of course, that's about where the similarity ends. We will be flying along with 30 stone halitosised Sumo wrestlers for 8 hours, not spending weeks or months in a leaky ship trying to create new and nutritious meals from ship rats and a handful of corn. And we won't be seeking our fortune, more like depositing one (I must not be anal.. ).

Old days (Bush years)... .... Today (well, Thursday)

OK. Enough riveting history. It's late, and we need to get up early (ish).

Here we go...