Feverishly Packing

"Working feverishly" takes on a rather different tone when you're feverishly packing not only because you're racing against a deadline to move out, but also because you literally have a fever. Ok, so it's not much of a fever, but I mean seriously, who needs a sore throat and hot and cold swings and trembling exhaustion when you're trying to pack for an international move? Don't worry, it's just a nasty cold. I'm sure if I had the luxury of "lots of rest and fluids" I'd be doing better already. Instead I get to be a plague rat and spread it to everyone on the train tomorrow. My apologies in advance to the faceless strangers I'll encounter tomorrow!

I'm so looking forward to tomorrow. We're over our weight limits on the suitcases, and we're at the maximum number of suitcases, which doesn't matter tomorrow because we'll be on trains not planes. But the only thing more fun than packing and scrubbing and cleaning with a cold has to be wrestling three suitcases and a backpack each on and off a succession of a taxi, three trains, and then likely another taxi because I don't imagine I'll be in much more shape to face a bus at the end of this journey as at the start of it. We'll have to spend some of our time in England re-juggling stuff in suitcases and then either book and pay for and acquire an extra bag (Oooh, so one of us can have 4 bags and a backpack, doesn't that sound like fun?) or, more likely, send a last box through the post. If we'd been a little more ahead, and I'd been a little less sick and slow, we could have done that at this end, though the bank holiday didn't simplify things any.

Sorry if this post contains more than the average level of whinging (is that how you spell that? To whinge...). Clearly I should give this up, pack the laptop and go catch some sleep.

In fact, I'll go do that now...