Arriving to a party fashionably early – a good 24 hrs, in fact – wasn’t my finest. At an eerily quiet doorstep in the staggering Melbourne heat, I momentarily wondered if perhaps children’s birthday parties are actually very quiet – this was my first, after all – or that everyone was keeping husshh in order to surprise the visitor. To be fair to them, I was surprised, and so were they when I knocked on the door quite sheepishly. Was a shame really, as I had missed lunch in order to elbow grubby chits out of the way and feast on wholesome sugary goodness.
I write the above whilst seated at a table at my friend’s house and, in finding it quite tall, I reached down to the lever on the side to increase the seat height. The problem is I’ve been sitting uncomfortably at this table for about three weeks, oblivious to the remotest idea of adjusting my predicament.
Am not surprised though; I have a lot on as I’m having to do what I most dislike when travelling: planning. It’s one of those annoyances when visiting non-western countries that officious governments want to know the details of travels before I know them myself. Can’t I just, you know, arrive and saunter about a bit? Seems not. In February I’ll be visiting Fiji, the US, Bahamas and the mighty Cuba where one needs visas and t’ings. Then perhaps Jamaica and Puerto Rico, not quite set on those yet. As my regular reader may note, the Caribbean isn’t my natural playground: my colour-of-scared-milk skin adores cloud, not sun; I don’t really like beaches; and Reggae, whilst excellent as a pasta sauce, isn’t for the ears. An adventure awaits! Let’s see what I forget.
Writing and writing...