Today was the day of the flight, and I'm not looking forward to any one of the twenty-eight hours of it.  Worse, I have to start the day as miserably as it is inevitably going to end – full leg and bikini wax before going to work.  Still, only being semi-conscious sure did take the sting out.  A tip for the future.

It was only 10.30am and I had me one and only 'Happy Holiday' phone call, it was from Mickey Concannon.  He inquired as to my whereabouts and if I were still at the airport or if I were already up a volcano.  "I'm at work" was the reply.
"What a tight bitch you are!!!"  Too disgusted to talk to me anymore he handed me over to Becks.  Where I had to explain I had no more annual leave left and I'd made a bit of a miscalculation with the 24-hour clock, thinking 20:00hrs was 10pm.
Thinking that by the time I got on the plane, work would be a distant memory.  Well it wasn't.

I also had 74 other tasks to complete before the 5.30 (17:30) check-in.  This included my packing which I just couldn't face doing the night before.  On the night before, I was already burned out with holiday organising and it was preferable to just lie on the sofa and just worry about all the packing I'd have to do when I got back from work on Friday.  I even managed a little cry, just not enough to shift me from the foetal position.

I'd been organising the holiday half-heartedly since summer 06 and with vigour from January 07.
Now some people find the organising of holidays tedious, my husband, Top Hat for one.
But I secretly enjoy it.  Secretly, not because I'm ashamed of being some low-life nerd but because Top Hat thinks I hate it as much as he does.  I've had loads of cups of teas and other various favours in exchange of holiday organising.
If you're the sole organiser you can't go wrong.  When it all works out well you get a pat on the back.  When you turn up at an over-priced shit hole, just so much as one glimmer of a look of disappointment or disapproval meets with, "Well you f*cking try and organise a trip like this all on your own, you selfish basket".  And he knows it.

So the packing commences.  I could finish it off in 10 minutes if my life depended on it, but why deny myself that terrible sick feeling you get when you have to leave the house in 2minutes and you still haven't found your passport.
I had a similar incident October 04 when me and Top Hat were getting married in Las Vegas and going on a driving holiday round the States.  I decided to leave it to the last minutes before looking for my drivers licence.  Never did find it.  All Top Hat could do was tut-tut to himself as I explained he'd have to drive the whole holiday.  Well it's 3 years down married life now and I'm not going to risk another bombshell like that.

I told Top Hat I would pack all shared toiletries, such as deodorant, shampoo etc.   He'd have to pack any of his specific items such as wart cream and Grecian 2000.  Within two minutes he was rummaging through my bags, moaning that I'd not packed his razors.  I gave up trying to re-explain these highly complex arrangements.

Well we got to the airport ok.  We were both dreading the flight, Top Hat because he is claustrophobic and fat of leg, me because I've just found out a medical condition that could create symptoms if I go on a long-haul flight.

The first leg Birmingham to Dubai was shite.  Cramped and with a very heavy, twitchy man in front of me who kept on bouncing in his chair.  His hair was very ugly and he smelt of bacon.  Not crisp, freshly cooked smoky bacon, but raw, inadequately wrapped bacon that's been in the fridge far too long after its sell-by date.

If that seems a tad intolerant, Top Hat cannot abide people on flights that even so much as turn their TV channel over.  He's ever ready to defend anyone on a flight who has the misfortune to sit behind anyone who puts his or her seat back.  Top Hat keeps himself occupied on flights by perpetually scanning the aisles, drawing offenders to my attention and then punching the chair in front of him (only if a toddler or lady pensioner is the occupier).

We finally arrived in Auckland and got to the hotel ok.   The room was alright, albeit a bit dark and humid.  We decided to get cleaned up and have a nap.  The bathroom had a large spa bath.  Fresh and clean I drifted off into a deep sleep only to be awoken by Top Hat squealing that there was a bat in the room.  It was in fact some sort of tit flapping about like an idiot in the room!
Top Hat obviously had required more shut-eye as he was in one hell of an ugly mood.  'Where's my toothbrush?' Top Hat demanded.  I explained I hadn't got it and he should have packed it as I'd explained.  Well there was an almighty row which ended in Top Hat on his knees blubbering rubbish about how I'd allegedly told him I'd definitely pack all his toiletries for him and carry them all in my bag.  Yeah, sure! 
About an hour later Top Hat decided he would write about our day and demanded I fetch his biro from his handbag.  I found his toothbrush and other toiletries, which for some reason angered him all the more.
We went out, came back, ate, activated the anti-bat device and went to bed for a very long sleep.