Low level panic

My suitcase is at my parents – we’ll not even get into the massive size of the thing, which I have been informed by my Mum that I have to take, due to the fact that I’ve to take clothes and gifts for my brother and his girlfriend. They live in New Zealand, and are meeting me in Melbourne for a city break holiday. Oh, and also, clothes for my brothers best friend, who is also currently in New Zealand. And wine gums for another friend of mine.

Now, since they’re just coming on a short break, they might not be prepared for the fact that they’re expected to transport crisps, sweeties, and clothing back home…can you see the flaw in this plan? Can you visualise the piles of random stuff, abandoned in a hotel room due to lack of suitcase space? Can you hear me whimpering as I try and co-ordinate with them, my Mum, the friends Mum, and the girlfriends Mum?

So, before I can even consider packing, I have to figure out what else is going in the case. Other than my mind.

Therefore, tonight, I will be mainly:

• Throwing clothes in a big blue IKEA bag, in advance of tomorrow being able to throw it in the car, go to my parents, step back, and letting my Aunt, Queen of Packing, do her work.
• Stuffing hand baggage with important things like crossword puzzle books, pens, MP3 player, books etc.
• Making sure I have all the conference and accommodation information printed out, and important things like passport, visitor e-visa, travel insurance.
• Checking I don’t have anything sharp: tweezers/cuticle scissors/nail clippers = BAD, although somehow badges which have a long spike on metal on the back = GOOD. Consistency? Nah!
• Praying I don’t end up sat next to the big/smelly/chatty/crying baby/snoring person on the plane.
• Checking my shopping list of presents I have to bring back.
• Wondering at exactly how exhausted I’ll be arriving at 1am on Saturday, after the 20+ flight time, with whatever random stopover time on top.
• Calculating exactly how many times I’ll have to be patted down at airport security after randomly setting off the metal detectors (Dubai’s quite fun – ladies get to go in a mini room, so the men can’t see you being patted).