In seventeen days' time, I will be somewhere in London around about now.
With Krissa.
Seventeen.
That's not long at all, right?
I could sleep that long if I put my mind to it.
On the seventeenth of this month, five years ago, I hefted a backpack onto one shoulder, set a panama hat on my head, and stepped onto a catamaran, beginning a journey of several thousand miles, a hundred baguettes, and one hell of a good time.
Writing up the diaries of that summer on the days they happened and commenting on them from my current perspective was going to be my summer project...only I haven't set up the new page yet and I'm not sure how to, I have only done the extra writing on about two weeks' worth of travel, and I haven't got that many photographs, damnit.
So. There are the excuses. I mention them purely so that if I don't get it up in time, I have already told you why...
Krissa's coming here. She's coming to the Island with me. We're having a big barbecue at my parents' house...
Seventeen days...
In London? Do give us a shout a old chap.
the sheer act of getting up means today is over. that leaves sixteen.
Seventeen days . . . here's how to do it.
- Today it is 'two and a half weeks away'
- Tomorrow it is 'just over two weeks away'
- In three days it's 'only a fortnight away' (it's crucial not to use the phrase 'two weeks' at this point)
- The day after that, and for the following two days, it's 'under two weeks away'
. . . and so on and so forth, until . . .
- You start counting backwards from '48 hours to go'.
Simple.
..at which point I may not be able to sleep.
Cheers Vaughan.
Really?