If I should die in the air over Nairobi

I should be ecstatic. Today is the first day of the longest holidayperiod-of-leave-from-work that I have had since my wedding. Four years ago. We're flying to a distant land, to bask in Autumnal warmth and parental indulgence. And yet.

There are glaring signs of our inability to come to terms with this trip. Packing has been postponed to the last minute. I literally have yet to do so, and prefer to blog about it, or even clean the house, than take that final irrevocable step. We've paid very little attention to any advance purchasing, and dread informs our every comment to friends and colleagues. Even the house-sitter was only elected last night (by Zara decree. Poor Dean).

Worse still is that we know why we feel this way. Although South Africa fills most people with thoughts of exotic wildlife and magnificent landscapes, it holds nothing but distaste for us. In addition, one of the parentals is ill. Still. The very reason for the trip, in truth. Although it will no doubt be wonderful to see them both, it's also going to be tough dealing with it.

There are a few redeeming elements, though. The parentals are wonderful people, the weather will be a welcome change of sky colour, some very important people are back in the country and may even be visited, and I will be incommunicado from work for the entire period.

So we'll go and give it the old boy scout try, shall we?

Obviously, I will be absent from my adoring communities in the interim. I ask that you keep the keening to a low whine; I will return with 2 weeks of holiday news and may even find time (and, more pertinently, facilities) to touch base before my return.