Busy doing nothing - 8 Days

And now I am getting to that moment where it seems like I have absolutely bloody no time to do anything I need to do. Which in fact is nothing, but I know that there must be stuff for me to do because you don’t just sit around for a week before moving to another country.

I did re-pack at the weekend, and now I have got a potential four suitcases down to two, plus a carry-on. I’ll pack/throw out all but one set of work clothes tomorrow night, along with about half of the remaining clothes.

I’m pulling together some handover stuff for work, where I finish this Wednesday, but I’m only taking a week and a half’s holiday, because I’ll be back doing the same job soon enough, just in my home office. It’s nice that I can say I’ll sort that out when I’m back, but it’s also shit that I can’t say “fuck it” someone else will do it, like a long line of my predecessors have.

I’ve cleared out my desk, and have completed one of the bids I had to do before going, and should send out another tomorrow. Then I have to make sure everything is where it should be and that anything that should be with anyone else finds its way to them. I also have to factor in saying goodbye to everyone, eating cakes, and paying my last four or five visits to our very own Costa Coffee, where either Mary can serve me cappuccino flavoured lava, or Helen can somehow work her magic to make milk colder using steam.

From Wednesday onwards it will be the final run of goodbyes and see you laters, with my farewell to Fir Park, both my Grandad’s, all of my Motherwell family, my best mate, and Onesti’s chip shop to take place on Wednesday/Thursday. Friday has been left open for whatever, then on Saturday it’s the last football game and day/night out with my brother, and on Sunday its dinner with the family. Oh, and the pub quiz where we will exact our revenge on the milk drinking wankers that won last night.

Monday will be relatively quiet with some last minute preparations, including checking in online at 6am, and then it will be the dreaded goodbyes to Mum, Lauren, Stuart and Sheona. Onto Tuesday morning where Dad will drop me off at Edinburgh International Airport, we’ll do our manly goodbyes. Then it’s check-in, bathroom,  two mushroom and swiss cheese muffins, bathroom, security, shoes off, laptop out, shoes on, laptop in, bathroom, bottle of water, bathroom, board one and a bit hour flight to Amsterdam, pretzels, coffee, land, check into, Yotel, nap, security, shoes off, laptop out, bag searched, tetris bag back together, shoes on, laptop in, board nine hour flight to Memphis, no nap, shite food that I secretly like, beat someone at bejewelled, drink some free beer, land, customs-greencard-easy, pick up baggage, security, drop baggage again, smell BBQ, make my way to baggage reclaim, walk past Cassie and Davie, they find me, we all hug, get my bags, get in the car and forget that we even spent the last year mainly apart.

So I haven’t left myself too much time to fit in anything that I’ve missed, including the dentist, buying some gifts for my lovely colleagues, visiting my old neighbour, saying goodbye to my guitar, buying some new British clothes, and stockpiling marmite and chocolate.