This weekend has been planned for some time, but as always, I am not a good finisher. Everything was coming along nicely though. I am so good at getting organized! How do I do it?? I write lists, this is my secret. I love writing lists… for everything! Well, almost everything. Christmas presents for me, or to buy for my friends. Possible holidays, potential new hobbies to investigate, potential new jobs, new restaurants to try… If I get an idea, I write it in the suitable list, in my precious list notepad. What if there is no suitable list? I start one!
So last weekend, I checked my "Weekend in Barcelona list":
I had almost all I needed ready yesterday morning, leaving the packing for last night… this is where I started slipping.
I started slipping.
An improvised evening out at my best friend Michelle's spoilt this fine organisation's machinery. She called me at work in the afternoon, in tears, asking me if I could come round the same evening. She needed to talk. How could I turn her down? Poor Michelle… How can you not be there for your best mate when she is not getting over being dumped by an I-am-so-gorgeous-that-I-can-do-anything-to-you Aussie boyfriend? The guy is a tall, fit, blonde surfer boy who must have come to the UK to get punched every Friday night, before last orders are served! Jerk, he always deserves it: too loud, too stupid, too rude.
These girlie sessions consistently follow the same pattern. Michelle starts by appearing very sad, then she gets a bit tipsy and starts making fun of me, my so-called new boyfriend who I started dating long before she met her chap, my small flat and my job, my French habits and my French accent. By the time the last bottle of red wine is dry, she is sobbing heavily about how stupid she is not to be able to move on and asking me to go round the world with her.
Back at mine at 1.00 in the morning, I forced myself to pack, blindly filling up my bag with the pile of stuff I had prepared ahead of time: I fell asleep on the floor, next to my bag, before even zipping it up.
This morning, I woke up feeling like Woodywood Pecker had joined me during the night and was having a nice play on my bedside table. I was late already and obviously in no state to redo my luggage. I'm going away for 2 days, high-jacking Paul, my dearest other half (well, more like my boyfriend) for a break in Barcelona, capital of Catalonia, and paradise land for tapas, beach, parties and shopping! This is going to be a nice birthday celebration weekend for him. I am sure he'd have picked a night with the lads instead, but his birthday was on Monday night so he's had plenty of time for it, and a bit of time with me is owed... OK, I admit it, the treat is more for me than for him. So, what am I going to need? Sexy underwear of course, a bikini, my make-up... No, this will be the excuse I need for some shopping at Heathrow. I will also pick-up a couple of bottles there, and any odd last minute birthday presents.