Packing Up Is Hard To Do

So tomorrow will be my last full day of normality for the next six weeks. As I hung the washing this morning I thought to myself: Oh god, I'll have to handwash my knickers in the hotel sink - there's no way I have six weeks worth of knickers.

I wish I was the kind of girl who did have to have more than one knicker drawer to house her extensive collection of briefs and french knickers and corsets - but alas I have never been that kind of girl so I won't start now.

Looking at the masses of unecessary items I dragged about my person to Berlin, I am determined to streamline and take only the bare-essentials to Thailand. It may not surprise you to learn I don't give two hoots about how many t-shirt or pairs of jeans I take, I'm no fashion horse.

But I fret dreadfully over how many books I take and whether or not you can buy conditioner in Bangkok. Priorities, right?

I figure if I'm to be that long haired hippy girl standing in a field (of marjuana, like in the The Beach?) I can afford to look a little sloppy. I just can't afford a matted tumble of straw on my head.

One of the things I love most about Rocker is his disbelief that I would need seven different types of conditioner and that I feel it's my duty to buy a blusher (nay a lifestyle choice) for £22. I love his questions like "Ok, so what's the most expensive mascara you can buy and what do you do with it?".

I love that bemused look he gets on his face, like he's just weighing up whether I really am ready to be sectioned or not.

So packing up is a bastard. I've washed everything and taken out the books I can't carry and will never read. I'm down to three. I will be in Thailand so I should imagine will be doing more than just sitting on a beach, reading but you never know.

Tomorrow I have to go to a party and I have to skip out early to be up for the taxi cab on Thursday. No wine for Wondy then.

Or maybe one for the road...