The Stuff of Nightmares
One of the issues with travelling can be packing, unpacking and repacking. As readers of this blog will recall I have had the unfortunate experience of forgetting vital medication on one trip and mislaying a camera charging lead on another. I have not repeated these blunders, although I did manage to leave a favourite item of clothing on our journey through India, but have replaced it with something that's actually more comfortable, so, in Caree's World, it doesn't count.
Generally I have always taken the view that so long as I have passport, credit card and travel tickets, nothing can go wrong whilst away that can't be fixed, at least temporarily. It's still a good philosophy and one I continue to hold steadfastly in retirement.
However in retirement you find that you have time to think about your belongings and the need to pack and unpack them. To make life easy I have even bought some packing bags that lift in and out of my travelling holdall and slip into hotel room drawers with the contents readily accessible. Moreover time allows me to fill them and lay them out in the spare bedroom several days before a planned departure. It all seems very civilised and far removed from the mad whirlwind of stuffing suitcases with anything close at hand and remotely appropriate that seemed to dominate the pre-holiday departures of my working life.
What therefore is there now to stress about packing? Once bitten twice shy: medication and charging lead are underlined in red on my re-usable packing list and everything is under control snug inside the packing bags.
Perhaps it is because one has more time to think and to plan, not least in an effort to ensure the mistakes of the past are indeed consigned to history. Time to think but also time to check, and double-check. Then time to worry and check again. Time to stress and allow those lingering concerns to enter the sub-conscious. Imagination runs riot and worry over things that haven't even happened begins.
At least that's how it seemed when I awoke in the middle of the night last week, just a few hours before we were scheduled to leave for home from our lodge in Langdale. I felt panic gripping me, as I sat bolt upright yelling out to Mister E that I had left my books behind. Then just as suddenly as the grip had tightened, it was loosened and I lay down, murmuring,"Oh, we're still here!"
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