We lost an hour in bed this morning and I woke up in a sweat. We've two weeks left, that's 9 working days and 4 days to pack! What the hell am I doing? And more to the point, what on earth am I going to do at the other end when I am running out of money and jobless?
Ric's dad has reminded him that travelling is 'not all that', that we'll miss our usual comforts and the things we have now (even the devils we know) and that we'll tire of the constant moving from place to place. He could well be right and we are not so foolish or naive to think we'll have exclusively good times but it's better to be optimistic than go with these thoughts in mind, surely?
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