Why I'm so bad at packing

My internal monologue......

Where's my bag? Not that one, the one with the things on it. Wait, was that mine? Yes, it was, or if it wasn't I've stolen it because I just found it under my bed. Ooooh, it has stuff in it! A blinky ring. Wonder if it still works? It does! Maybe I'll try it on. Ow, needs adjusting. Maybe some pliers.......No! Concentrate! Oh look, my utility belt! I thought I lost that! I can fix my fox tail to it. Tail has no fastener. Where were those carabiners? (half an hour later) Ha! There they are! Now I need some scissors or a knife or something to cut a hole for the carabiner to go through. Wait. Do they let you take real fox tails through US customs? Better look that up. (half an hour later) Can't see anything to suggest otherwise. Ok, attach that to belt. Ooo, I should find all those badges and pin them on. Where's my Zooty badge? I need that one. Where did I put it? (half an hour later) Ha! There it is! Right, get that on there......

.......Hey! Where did all the time go? Better get back to packing........god I'm bad at packing.......maybe I should write a blog post telling everyone how bad I am at packing.......

.......Hey! Where did all the time go?

This is cause for debate?

Youth on tube 1: Batman's my boy, man. He's like, proper gangsta.
Youth on tube 2: Nah, Superman's the man!
Youth 1: Nah, cos Batman's like, human, but he's gettin all up in it.
Youth 2: Can he fly though?
Youth 1: Nah, but......
Youth 2: He can't though can he?
Youth 1: Nah, but.......
Youth 2: So whatever.
Youth 1: But he'd've been out there on the streets last week, messin it up.
Youth 2: Batman would not've been lootin man. He's rich.
Youth 1: Maybe we should loot him. Loot the bat cave.
Youth 2: I fort he was your boy?
Youth 1: Yeah.......whatever.

Things that make me smile no.83

It's strange how different shoes affect the way you feel and walk. Normally I wear little slippy ballet pumps, and drift around in a diffident manner. Today I've noticed that wearing Doc Martens gives me a secure, grounded feeling, and causes me to walk with a confident lope. It's pleasing.

Amsterdam

My trip to Amsterdam didn't begin hugely well, what with nearly missing the plane due to the Gatwick Express being delayed and my bag being searched at security, the man on the plane who insisted on putting said bag in the overhead locker for me because he thought I was pregnant, me being too embarassed to correct him and therefore ordering a juice instead of a G&T from the trolley, then bumping into him at the bus stop as I was smoking a cigarette and being looked at like I was scum (It's no wonder I don't like travelling). Once I arrived it was just wonderful though. I got to spend time with friends I don't see nearly enough of, sleep spooning the world's soppiest rottweiler, and view the canal-borne pride parade from prime position perched atop the battlements of their roof terrace.

The carnival atmosphere was incredibly special, but one of the high points for me was the opportunity to see how thoroughly gay pride was being embraced. Lots of the floats were sponsored by large, prominent corporations - capitalist whoring of course, but how wonderful that supporting varied sexuality is seen as a positive advertising opportunity, rather than as a box to be reluctantly ticked to be seen to be toeing the equal opportunities line. No "Yes, we have a policy on diversity......in a box somewhere......let us know if you need it and we'll try and dig it out......in a few months time". Just "Hi everyone! We love gays! Buy our product!". And I've never been to a pride parade before, so I may be wrong, but I can't imagine the UK emergency services (And certainly not the US') allowing their employees to take part in such a thing. Amsterdam's police, fire brigade, paramedics and armed forces were on a float, in their uniforms, with a banner proclaiming that they are 'Proud to Serve'. It was so touching it gave me goosebumps.

So, for future reference, the perfect weekend includes - Celebratory camp, ornamental water feature paddling, burners, chilli, canine cuddles, a rain-soaked walk to the red light district, a playground, beer, singing Doris Day at full volume, coffee with Baileys, and the purchase of a tacky Delft-style lighter.

Well that's new

Apparently I can add packing to the list of things which make me hyperventilate. It happened a few weeks ago when I was preparing for my exciting 'business trip', but I put it down to some sort of unknown work-based scenario induced panic. But no. I packed for a weekend in Amsterdam last night (which, for the record, I was and am looking forward to immensely), and found my throat trying to close up and my head swimming as I filled my case. This is not good. Frankly, I could do without adding any more mundane tasks to my panic list*.

 

Why can my body not understand that these things are not actually scary? I am not stranded a mile out to sea. I am not being chased by an irate bear. I do not need all this adrenaline to flood my system and trigger a panic attack. It is not productive.

 

 

*List includes but is not limited to such terrifying things as:
Filling in forms
Making a journey by a previously un-tested route
Opening my post

Things that make me smile no.82

Drunk tramp lady: You're beautiful, you are........like a photo.......no, I mean it......really.......cos most girls look a bit.....all like.....in a dress and stuff........but not good. But you don't.......I mean you do.......look good I mean..............................................got any change?