They say that holidays are among the most stressful times of the year, up there with Christmas and the summer solstice [obscure Scottish islands ruled by Christopher Lee only], and they have a point. I've spent much of the past few days chasing round trying to sort out insurance, money, tickets, a haircut and travel entertainment, leading to endless paranoia about where my passport/credit card/camera was. The sooner they invent teleportation the better.
The travel entertainment is in the form of a Game Boy Pocket; I used to have the regular version of this critter, until it was hurled across the room in a fit of gladiatorial picque. The new version is slimmer, lighter and takes smaller batteries -- which conveniently can be found in the stationery cupboard at work. 'Nuff said. In these days of consoles which could run the space program (and in the case of Mir, apparently do), it's refreshing to remember just how AGGRAVATING graphically naive but immensely playable games are. I sense more gladiatorial picque upcoming, and rate the GB's chances of surviving the holiday at 50/50.
Probably about the same as mine. A week after I come back, I have a company medical to attend. I fully expect to be told that I'm overweight, drink too much, exercise too little, and have a crap diet -- but I can then write it all of as holiday hangover. ["Yes, three weeks ago I could have won an Olympic gold..."] Certainly better to have it AFTER, last thing I want before going away is someone telling me to adopt the lifestyle of an anorexic monk.
And so I vanish into the wide blue yonder. Unless I encounter one of the myriad American serial killers, overdose on fresh orange juice, or slip a disc carrying my excess baggage, I will be back in a fortnight, with tales of bravery and excess...