London bound

July 26, 2022

Hard to believe a week from tomorrow I will be in London.

I’m starting to freak out about the whole thing. Yes, it will be wonderful to see old friends (some of whom I haven’t seen for decades). Yes, it will be great to go to galleries and shows. But, what about, you know, Covid?

What if I somehow contract it on the plane? The other day a friend commented that she always gets sick on planes. Yes, I said, and I know why that is. When they banned smoking on planes, airlines decided to save money by no longer going to the trouble of sucking fresh air in and sucking old air out, so you just sat in the same germ-filled air (as it got more and more germ-filled for hours). No wonder people got sick. Apparently they’ve reversed that policy since taking back to the air during the pandemic, but still.

If I get Covid on the plane, instead of heading out every day to meet friends, I’ll have to spend the first 10 days isolating in my friend Rowan’s spare bedroom?.

Or what if I contact Covid during the first week and a half and then, without realising I have it, infect the elderly relatives I will be visiting?

It seems almost everyone in the UK has lost their minds. No masks in pubs, no masks on the tube or on buses. Yikes!

I’ve started having packing nightmares. Last week I dreamt I needed to take my hoover! Okay, that’s just ridiculous and kind of funny. Last night I dreamt that I was breaking my journey to visit my friends Jane and Mariam in New York. (They actually live in Montreal.) Whilst visiting I bought so many things I could no longer fit everything in the hand baggage I’d planned to take. (Three summer dresses, three tops, a pair of shorts, a pair of jeans, sandals, trainers and a jacket. Oh, and knickers, even though I plan a visit to Marks and Sparks to stock up. )

The getting hopelessly lost or held up trying to get to the airport in time for my flight dream will start soon.

Also there are the things I have to remember. I won’t be on the island, where it never occurs to me that someone might nick my wallet. Unlike London, where I’ve lost track of the number of times this has happened. (Bastards.) So I have to remember to put my wallet in the zippered pocket in my bag, to zip that and then the bag itself up. Sounds easy enough, but I’m out of practice. That’s actually the only thing that springs to mind, but I’m sure there are others.

Still, I am looking forward to it. Seeing friends, just being in London again, spending his birthday for the first time in many years – and possibly the last time – with my favourite cousin.

And then, of course, there’s the visit in Wales. Absolutely no idea how that is going to turn out. I’ve arranged to go for a couple of days (figuring, even if it’s really bad, I can manage two days), but made sure I have no other commitments for the next few days if I decide to stay longer. It’s going to be, erm, interesting. (Have to admit I have started playing that Dylan song regularly again. Don’t get too excited, kiddo.)

If nothing else, I’ll get to see the ruins of this abbey.