I always find myself writing about how panicky I feel before I go away. Too much to do. All the planning in the world is useless. There's still too much to do. Anyway, my business affairs are in capable hands, the garden and allotment are being cared for by friends, ferries and flights are booked, so that's about it.
Is the panic really another fear? I think so. That I won't come back. See?
Having had a totally unexpected cancer diagnosis in January, followed by surgery, and with radiotherapy lined up for the end of the month, the ridiculously fragile nature of my life is more apparent to me than ever. I thought I would go on forever, in fact. Now I've had this little message from the ultimate hotelier, Death.
Consequently, my perfectionist instincts are all the sharper. I would like to be leaving my house, garden, wardrobe, accounts, correspondence, etc all in perfect order but - ha ha! they have never looked so chaotic!
We are off to Fécamp in Normandy with my 92-year old mother-in-law for a few days, then back home for a night, then off to Nairobi to stay with friends for a long week. Quite a lot to plan, as it happens. I am aware of the perils of both excursions, all to do with relationships of course, and how I manage my behaviour. I find I have a low opinion of myself in the company of some people and I shall be with some of them during this holiday. Heigh ho!
Anyway, as usual I have no idea how easy it will be to post during these travels. I will do my best. We are off on Monday early.