And we’re off . . .

OMG, you’ll be thinking, won’t she ever just get on the plane and fly, already! But our flight is not until late this afternoon — 5 p.m.! — so I have time to get a badly-needed pedi this a.m.,

and to make sure the new bathing suit
(a two-piece aqua-print Sea Folly, if not actually a bikini, the first two-piece of my adult life, yes really! and Pater def. approves!)

fits in my case
(and wish I could make room for the second, a gorgeous one-piece Sea Queen I love, black with slimming wavy lines of rich red flowers and metallic gold — and it covers my tummy, which the two-piece doesn’t and what if I chicken out about all the tummy exposure . . . )

and whether the orange chiffon long dress is really too silly/impractical to deserve space in my carry-on so out it comes, but damnit, isn’t that silliness part of what vacations should make room for, and I love how floaty the dress feels and how summer-pretty I feel in it and I think I’m going to put it back in but then what about the cute little Nola dresses I’ll surely pick up at Petit Bateau and those fabrics I’m going to want at Liberty. Will there be enough room . . .

and have I really got enough to read on the plane — I mean, Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities is all very well and good and will last for hours, but will I really want to spend all those airplane hours in the French Revolution? I did pick up that secondhand Lee Child (a Jack Reacher we haven’t yet read, yay!) but maybe I should just run up to the bookstore after my pedi . . .

Yes, this is how it goes when one has too much time before a flight. Time to worry about the fact that while all the rest of our plans fell into place perfectly, each hotel being available for precisely the dates we’d mapped out, our flight to Portugal from London easily booked, a car rental reserved for Porto for a great price, a train journey booked effortlessly, tickets even at this moment being UPSed to our London hotel. . . BUT the last link, our return to London from Paris via EuroStar, being on a Sunday, seems to be astronomically priced, with no deals available — it will cost as much as the entire train journey (including the overnight sleeping compartment!) from Porto to Paris . . . So we’re doing the only reasonable thing. Avoiding the decision ’til we get to London. Yes, how about that solution?! Actually, we’re going to see if there might be a deal to be found, on the ground, so to speak, and if not, we’re going to “suck it up,” and allow for one expensive misstep in an otherwise smooth set of plans.

ANYway, I’ve delayed my goodbyes and your bon voyages for far too long. At this stage, pre-flight, I’m always wishing I could just stay home. I’d love three weeks seaside, in my garden, or just reading in my armchair.

But we’ve already got tickets to see a baroque ensemble perform Thursday night and we’ll be meeting my blogging friend Alison to take in some Shakespeare on Friday. The adventure has begun — now I’d better just go and get the toes ready for it.

Talk you from the other side of the pond . . .