Thursday July the 31 ^st 2008
D-day tomorrow. I need to be up with the sparrow fart but I don’t care. This needs to be done. I’m not on a standard holiday package — it seems Inca isn’t a hotspot for the visiting Brits — but I’m on a charter flight. Heaven help me — screaming kids, early morning boozers, cramped seating, delayed flights — the joys.
Martin is dropping me at the airport — not a happy bunny given the hour — but he’ll oblige. He has been very quiet on the whole thing. I’ve been expecting a grilling on my plans but it hasn’t happened. He knows the rough gist of the Charlie Wiggs conversation but not all of it and I’m keeping it that way.
He did ask me what the plan was when I get home and I realised I didn’t have one. I’ve been so focused on the trip to Spain that I haven’t given a second thought to what comes next. I’ve just assumed that whatever happens out there will dictate what happens back here. Martin was more practical. For instance where was I planning to stay? Where was the cash for living coming from? The basic stuff.
I asked if I can have one more month at his and I’ll be out of his hair. As to cash, that is something I’ll worry about on my return.
Early to bed.