Of things left behind, and things to take on planes

I’ve recently discovered that things don’t get scared. Even if I put on my angry scary face. I spent weeks just staring angrily, smouldering eyes of imminent pain and badness, and my things just sat, immobile and rock-like, defying my wish that they pack themselves neatly into boxes and send themselves home. Who know they had it in ‘em? I was beaten by objects. This hurts my self esteem.

So I had no choice but to pack, and packed I am now, five boxes filled to the brim with two years of accumulated detritus, plus the load I will take on the plane. Did you know you can take whole bicycles on the plane? I didn’t, but that’s what I’ll be doing in two weeks when I board my flight home. The God of Excess Baggage will be happy with my offerings on that day, happy indeed. Clothes, cameras and computers, bike and guitar will be coming aboard, although my wallet will be significantly lighter, so at least I won’t have to pay excess baggage on that.

I have been coming up with many ways to lighten said wallet, and quicken the inevitable collapse of my immune system. You have no idea how nice it is to be kicked out of bars at 6am, or indeed, 3am, rather than staying and drinking and then realising it’s 9am. Does that seem ridiculous? It isn’t — it’s pretty easy, I’ve done it many times. I remember the days when even house parties ended at 2am, oh, those were the days.