z's a goose. A silly one

I'm going away for the weekend and today is the deadline for getting ready, of course. So far, I've done almost nothing.

I bought a new toothbrush, ordered and picked up the currency, I finally found the envelope with the information, bought travel insurance online, printed two copies, one to have with me and one to leave at home, wrote down my passport number and took an extra £100 out of the bank in case. I've discussed plants with Al. I've recharged my phone and am charging up my iPod and camera. I looked up the hotel online and various places of interest.

Doesn't this sound good so far? Unfortunately, that's it. I have letters and emails to write that can't wait until I get back and I have done nothing whatever about packing, including not looking at clothes, most of which will have to be ironed. I am rather hoping to bypass this stage altogether by buying new clothes, but the little dress shop is always closed with a 'back at 2 (or 3) o'clock' sign in the door. It wouldn't matter at all, I'd wear anything, but some of the people I'm going with are rather chic and they think I dress okay - they don't know I make a monthly effort when I see them.

I could have done most of this this morning, but I've faffed. I am, of course, a complacent fool, who believes there's nothing I can't catch up with. I haven't mentioned yet that I'm out this evening, from 6 o'clock until about 9.30. This is the time usually reserved for packing.

No...still no sense of urgency.

I'll be the scruffy one with the carrier bags, desperately shoving them into a suitcase, on N0tcutt's car park at 7.30 tomorrow morning. You'll know me, everyone else will be elegant and relaxed, and will be pointing and laughing at me.

I've been called a silly goose. The caller has a point.