Day zero, and we’re holed up in an airport-adjacent Premier Inn. I love Premier Inns, they’re so predictable. This one has rooms that look outside onto the inside of the hotel, like some weird hotel within a hotel. A Premier Innception, if you will (thanks Michelle!).
We’d arrived here hungry, after somehow forgetting that lunch was a thing, and decided to take advantage of an opportunity to enjoy some fine British cuisine before setting sail (plane) for foreign shores. A tasty burger and fries, washed down with cream soda and a Brooklyn Lager… I’ll miss such familiar comestibles while on our adventure.
Otherwise, the day was predictable. Michelle packed one hour before we left the house, as expected, and managed to somehow squeeze two or three t-shirts into the dense cuboid of yarn that has been injected into her suitcase. She also broke out the crochet hooks on the train and spent the journey eyeballing a girl opposite who was knitting herself. It was like some weird craft-off, with each of them performing ever more flamboyant yarn tricks. Duelling grannies.
Meanwhile, I discovered that there is literally no amount of visual passport inspection that can be done to prevent you wondering “did I pack the passports?” approximately halfway down the country.