This is a Thursday when I go to work and then I go to the gym and then I go home to pack. And this is not packing for Sydney, not yet, but it’s packing for somewhere else and this somewhere else is Athens.
Now the problem that occurs as I’m starting to pack is that I realise that all my clothes are ridiculous taken out of context. And the context is someone living in West/Central London trying to look pseudo-preppy with a huge tongue-in-cheek twist. Oh and a little gay.
And I’m starting to think that ridiculous moccasins from Cornwall and shirts with the collar up and jumpers tied around my shoulders and permanently wearing short sailing shorts, even though I’ve never been sailing, might not go down that well in Athens.
So I’m trying to think what people might actually be wearing in Athens and what they might think of a constant use of deck shoes and whether they will get that I’m being tongue in cheek or whether they’ll just think a backward dweeb. Then I start to panic because I don’t actually have many other clothes, so in the end I pack:
Three pairs of jeans (from the Gap / Energie / G-Star), two pairs of gym shorts (from Nike and Adidas), three gym wifebeaters (two from Adidas, one stolen from the gym of unknown brand), two stripey long sleeved shirts in pink and light blue (from the Gap), five pairs of shorts (Ted Baker / Berska / ___ / Ralph Lauren / Topman), one navy Lyle & Scott jumper, one green hoodie with Newquay embroided on the front, two cardigan in grey and brown (Reiss / Junk DeLuxe), one pair of white plimsolls, one pair of white espadrilles, two pairs of ridiculous moccasins from Cornwall, one pair of Timberland deck shoes, one red Ralph Lauren jacket, 8 pairs of underwear (all Marks & Spencer), 8 pairs of socks (4 white, 4 black), 10 t-shirts – 3 without a collar – in assorted brands (Lyle & Scott / Fred Perry / Topman / Gap / a Suede one / etc).
I don’t know exactly what I’m planning to do with all those clothes during the time when I’m in Athens when I don’t plan to leave the house more than once.
Then I’m packed and sit down to watch an episode of Sabrina The Teenage Witch (series 2), but I’m distracted, I’m distracted and I can’t follow the complex – no wait, flimsy – plot because this is the last night of my life as I know it. This is the end is the beginning is the end.
This is that last night that I’m going to have a 2200 yoghurt with nuts whilst watching TV, iron my shirt for tomorrow’s work, brush my teeth, floss and wash my face with a soundtrack of some forgotten Britpop band playing in the background, go to bed with the best intentions, stay awake for a couple of hours fretting about things that can be helped and things can’t, and finally resign and take a pill at 0145, which will give me a few hours of interrupted sleep before going to work.
And because I’m faced with all these impending changes, changes that involve leaving jobs, cities, people, homes and countries behind, I’m so terrified that I’m actually, literally and most definitely feeling numb.
And the fact that Harvey from Sabrina The Teenage Witch never acted again after the show ended, kinda makes everything worse.