Packing...

I'm supposed to be packing, but writing about packing is far easier than actually packing so here I am.


Usually I don't find packing hard at all. I chuck a ton of stuff in bag and trust that Jeremy will have remembered all the essentials I've forgotten. Or that I can buy them when we get there (hence the ridiculous number of sun-cream bottles, plasticky hair-brushes and cheap sun-glasses that we own).

This time packing is different. For every item of clothing that I put on the bed, ready to be smushed into my suitcase, my heart does a double beat. It sounds like this:

Wed-ding.

Somehow I have to pack for 2 weeks of English summer (which means packing for most countries' 4 seasons), a week of backpacking in France and a wedding. Even if we ignore for the moment the massive wedding dress that I'll be hand-luggaging my way to England with, it's still going to be a lot of stuff.

Meanwhile, whilst packing rain-coats and bikinis, jeans and summer-skirts I'm also processing my return to the motherland. So much has changed and I'll be seeing so many people who it's broken my heart not to see. Just thinking about it overwhelms me.

I know from past experience that the England I left will not be the England I'll return to. I will have changed - there will be inflections in my accent, new mannerisms, 'bad' table-manners (no judgment - it's way easier your way...) that will distinguish me as not-quite English and if other people aren't aware of it then I will be anyway. That doesn't worry me too much though. What worries me is that I'm only now beginning to shake the homesickness, to settle here and accept the distance. Am I going to lose all that ground?

Stop rolling your eyes at me. I am NOT complaining. I can't wait to be back in the UK, knowing my way around and being understood and having EVERYONE I love most in the world in one errrr tent for a night. I'm just aware it's going to be a little odd and saying goodbye is never ever easy.

Which is my excuse for packing very very slowly.