I don’t know if you’ve noticed (lol jk, you couldn’t escape it) that Abbi and I went to New York recently. It was pretty fucking fab. Here are some photos of it.
I’ve never been very good at packing. I have a lot of issues with it. I overpack. I leave it until the last minute. I scrunch everything up in little balls in my case.
A few years ago, I got a nice shiny new suitcase and thought that from now on, I would be oh-so-good with packing. I would put everything in neatly. I’d use the pockets in the lid to put sensible things in. I’d use the separators to put everything in its place.
Turns out that this was all a bit too much for me. I am still using my patented packing method. This involves the following steps:
Despite this, I still end up taking too much with me. ”Packing light” is a foreign concept to me. What will usually occur is I will end up taking about double what I need. Especially with underwear – I pretty much always take 2 sets per day that I’m away.
This also has a disappointing side effect – it means I have less space for shopping while I’m away! Oh yes, did I not mention that I usually end up buying more clothes…
Whenever there is anything exciting to be excited about, I turn into a small child all over again. I’m a little bundle of energy, all sparkly eyes and high pitched voice, annoying as I remind you bi-hourly about whatever event it is that has me all worked up.
In two days and twenty three hours, Abbi and I will board a plane bound for New York. On twitter, where we regularly talk bollocks, it has been granted a hashtag of its very own – #newyorkwankers. (Abbi’s twitter is here and mine is here!)
It’s the first time I’ve been outside of the country since I was thirteen, and that was a family holiday that my father insisted on dying in the middle of, which ruined everything frankly.
When I was twenty-ish, I tried to get my passport so that I could go on holiday, but no no! Thwarted! Pesky housemate had thrown my birth certificate in the bin. This would have been a mild annoyance, but I was born in South Africa and it took three applications before I finally got my birth certificate a few months ago. I’m twenty-five!
So when my passport finally plunked through my letterbox, it felt like a weight off my shoulders. It’s really hard to prove anything about who you are without a passport or a driving license, which I also couldn’t get without my bloody birth certificate. I hope I’m adequately conveying how fucking, fucking annoying it has been.
This trip to New York, although short, feels like a really big deal. It feels like my freedom, my coming-of-age, and not to mention my dream of visiting America coming true.
So when we are sitting on the plane, and Abbi will I’m sure be thinking about shoes and shopping and museums, I’m going to be thinking about myself. And a bit about my dad too. And maybe a bit about shoes and shopping and museums. God, such a #newyorkwanker.
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