i don’t think i’ll be winning a travel blogging award anytime soon: it’s five weeks today since i left home, and i’ve blogged about my travels exactly once (and i hadn’t even got on the plane at the end of it).

i have however, been keeping a travel diary - with a notepad and pen and everything. i’ve decided that the best way to share it with you is to write posts which include a few days at a time (that way, i might have finished by next october). i’ll continue writing other posts (when i have time) in between the travel ones and i will edit my diary entries somewhat so that i’m finished before christmas.

i hope you enjoy them - either way they will be a useful keepsake when i’m 90 and can’t remember my foreign adventures… let’s start at the beginning, with my arrival in singapore (aka: the molten centre of the earth).

travel log, part one

10 april 2008

on the plane to singapore:

very impressed with self, as my theory of seat booking was correct. i wanted an aisle seat, so chose a row where only the window seat had been reserved. the middle seat would be a last-resort booking for anyone, right? right - huzzah! no-one was in the seat next to me, so i could spread out with my stuff instead of having to duck under my seat to get things.

the man in the window seat was either a big drinker or a nervous flyer, or both: he consumed at least three gin and tonics and three glasses of wine, then promptly fell asleep (and! as far as i can tell, he didn’t, um, “go” once…) as i can never sleep on a flight, i watched lots of stuff on the seat-back screen: ’til death, 30 rock, rules of engagement, back to you, pushing daisies and two eps of sex and the city. i also saw most of a julie delpy film (which i didn’t like much) and juno (which i will be writing another post about soon).

i wished i had my laptop, my carmex and my meg cabot, but i coped.

11 april 2008

before i knew it (okay, it was a long time, and long overdue, but i’m skipping ahead now) we were landing in singapore. the pilot announced it was 26 degrees celsius. “that’s not too hot,” i thought. then i realised: it’s half past five in the morning. after disembarking, i had a short wait at customs and a shorter wait at the baggage carousel, before hefting my heavy suitcase over to the exit, where my dad stood, in his sheffield united t-shirt and shorts. hugs ensued.

stepping out of the airport, i couldn’t believe the heat. it doesn’t creep up on you but blasts you like a thump to the face. we dived into a taxi and twenty minutes later we were at our hotel in little india. everything looked - unsurprisingly! - indian, which was weird for a city whose main occupants are of chinese origin.

back at the hotel, it was about 6.30 AM, and i wasn’t feeling my best. my room wasn’t ready yet, so my dad went for breakfast while i showered and had a snooze. then i dressed, my dad came back, and i acted like i was ready to sight-see, despite feeling like i’d been run over…

for most features writers, the glossies - those monthly women’s mags printed on paper as shiny as their nickname implies - are a holy grail. we all want to write for them, for the cash and the employment but most of all for that lovely feeling you get from seeing your name in something with such a huge circulation that you actually read.

while i have been lucky enough in the past to snag an eighth of a page in essentials, and a half page in company, i hadn’t really “cracked” the glossies. i’d never got a page of my own.

until i left the country.

ironically, the month my first full-page feature appears in a monthly women’s mag… i’m on the other side of the world. if you are not, i encourage you to pick up a copy of this month’s easy living (the one with marriella frostrup on). anyone else who is interested, can read this lovely scan (thanks, mum!) instead: get to grips with your iPod. (click with your mouse to bring up a magnifying glass icon, which will let you enlarge it).

next month: i make my prima debut - and won’t be around to see that, either…

when someone reads an article then says “wow, this sounds just like you,” you can’t help thinking they’ve seen your incredible potential. that they’ve just read about some fabulous journalist-author-whatever who had one or two struggles on the way to a hugely happy life and kick-ass career. someone you can model yourself on, and use as an inspiration: like marian keyes, arianna huffington or nora ephron.

of course, that’s never the case. someone has read a piece about a woman who also likes to wear black trousers, or who watches teen programmes they are really too old for, or has had depression for as long as they can remember.

it’s this last thing that most recently reminded someone of me.

at first i was a bit insulted… so it wasn’t something about a fabulous person, but about someone suffering from self-doubt and an all-pervasive sadness? bummer.

» more…

yes, indeed: my first piece for handbag.com went live while i was in transit, so i’m a bit late in shouting about it. but if you’re interested in my top ten wellbeing treats, you might like to take a look. 

coming soon to the blog: my holiday diary. woot! 

this week i wrote a post for popgadget which i’m a bit proud of: celebrating women in tech. and cali lewis is following me on twitter as a result! i feel under pressure to be interesting now… (oh - no-one tell her about the stalkerish homage i wrote, will you?)

it’s two weeks today since i left the UK and my overseas adventure began badly (always the worst way for something to begin, in my opinion) when i attempted to check in.

despite packing and re-packing my suitcases more times than anyone has ever packed anything, anywhere, singapore airlines said that i was over their baggage allowance, and would have to pay seventy five great british pounds per flight (ie. a minimum of 300 quids) if i wanted to continue. [in retrospect: totally would have been worth it. anyway…]

so the woman at the desk tells me she’ll have to call her supervisor over, like i’m trying to smuggle drugs or something, and this very snooty older woman marches over. totally irrelevantly, she points at my mum, who is standing outside the queue, with another suitcase in the same colour, and says, “and i presume you’ll be wanting to take that one as well?”

er, no. if i was taking that one, wouldn’t i be taking it to the check-in desk?

“no, that’s my mum’s suitcase.”

“but YOU WANT TO TAKE IT? i presume.”

“no.”

she looks disgusted, and turns to the woman behind the desk, and they have a discussion about how many kg my luggage can weigh. they weigh everything, including my rucksack, which contains my laptop, and is “right on” 7kg. then the woman behind the desk says i can have 27kg total without having to pay anything.

“altogether? everything?” i ask her. YES, she tells me. “but don’t put anything into your rucksack, as that’s seven exactly.”

i trundle my cases away, and my mum looks agog and aghast to see me back with cases in tow.

luckily, i had a back-up plan for this eventuality. i would simply jettison (my new fave word) everything i could. and so the jettisoning begins! i realise the heaviest problem is my CASES themselves, which are sturdy and beautiful (with their 360 degree revolving wheels, and bright purple plumage) but basically dead weights.

so i  shove everything i can from my small case into the larger one and my rucksack, jettisoning my (new! sob!) laptop and its heavy cords in the process. i get rid of my umbrella and some books, and one whole toiletry bag. it still makes me ache to think about the spectacle. it was panic, pandemonium, and totally humiliating having all my stuff bared for everyone to look at. (and boy, did they want to look at it - thanks for staring! that helped.) i’m still sad i couldn’t bring meg cabot, or jennifer weiner, or joshilyn jackson. basically, all my reading plans went down the drain. and my packing, carefully planned over months, degenerated into a last minute shove-fest. it was no way to begin a three-month trip abroad. i was tired and sweaty and stressed out, my mum and i were snapping at each other non-stop, and i was losing a lot of my home comforts. not fun.

but i finally finish, and go to the scales in the corner, and weigh all my stuff, including my rucksack. it all comes to 26.3 kg. hurrah! i go back to the desk and the woman says, “just one suitcase this time?”

“yes, i realised the main problem before was that my cases themselves are really heavy.”

“oh.” ever the conversationalist, this one.

she weighs my case. “oh it’s really light! you can have up to 27 kilos, and this is only 21 now.”

“no, you said everything, including my carry on, had to be 27.”

“no, i said your cases.” she gives me the smarmiest, most condescending look ev-ah.

mumbling NO YOU BLOODY DID NOT, I HATE YOU ALL i go back to my even more agog and aghast mother. “what now?” she says.

we shovel some more - mainly clothes - back into my big case til it’s almost at bursting point.

now, helpfully, the scales have broken  so i can’t check the weight. i’m not sure whether to re-consider taking my laptop or some books or even the other case. i know the singapore airlines website says 20kg, not 27kg is the limit for cases, so am not sure if i’ll get charged when i fly to perth from singapore. and i have less than an hour before my flight starts boarding and the queue for security has just expanded tenfold.

i decide to accept that it’s all gone to pot, cut my losses, cry briefly (i’ve now gone totally hypoglcaemic having been up since 4.30 and not eaten a thing) and roll over to check in one final time, talking to the woman at the desk through gritted teeth.

“you sure you don’t want to take any more?” she asks me, amazed, and with great restraint, i smile and shake my head.

so - there you have it, my simple three-million point check-in process is complete and i feel like crap. we head to the horrible terminal two cafe (manchester, get your act together, this place is expensive and dirty, and there aren’t enough seats), flop down and i consume my standard airport breakfast: half a chocolate chip muffin and a diet coke. it’s hard when you’re shaking, though.

after sitting down for about four minutes, there’s just time to hug my mum before i dash off through security, where there’s a huge queue, to calm my nerves. i feel fraught and on the brink of tears. i just have time to find my gate and use the loo (tmi?) before my plane begins to board - i don’t even sit down at the departure gate or have a second to catch my breath. i realise how lucky i was the last time i flew alone: i checked in smoothly, had plenty of time to spare, didn’t queue for security, bought a book and mooched around.

oh well, at least i’ve learned two lessons:

1. pack hardly anything for any trip in future (or stay at home, it’s safer).

2. singapore airlines are a bunch of snooty snootsters. (yes, that is a word).

oh well. i’m on my way at least - at last. things have to get better from here on in… don’t they? 

…down on blahdiblah drive!*

or even xxxx avenue**

i’ve been having some “adjusting to a new time zone/house/country” ups and downs - mainly involving jet lag to be honest - and have plans most of the weekend, then have to start doing some work (yes! in a foreign country!) next week.

but i have been keeping a (sporadic) diary, and plan to update a bit more, a bit soon. hope you’re all bearing up in the meantime - i hear there’s been snow! none here, just sun.

(and rain, thunder and lightning…)

* what is that lyric? i’ve never known.

** got to keep stalkers at bay.

this week, i am off to australia, via manchester and singapore. which means that i’m rushing around today getting organised, working all day (and i do mean aaaaaaaaaaaaaall day) tomorrow and rushing around again on tuesday. but i’m not complaining! although i can’t help wondering why, however far in advance i plan, there’s always so much to do at the last minute? an extra week to prep would be perfect.

anyway… this is my last post before i go mad. i just wanted to thank you all for reading during this time of lean blogging (that knicker story was good value though, no?) and let you know i will be updating from oz, i’m just not sure when or how much. i still have some writing assignments to finish while i’m there, but i’ll be making sure to have time off to relax. (i’m so in need of a holiday that i can’t wait for the 12 hour plane journey, ‘cos there’s no way anyone can email or phone me about anything! plus i’m dying to use one of those chair-back TV screens for the first time).

what i will definitely be doing is continue to twitter. (in case you’re still not sure what that means, it’s micro-blogging - telling the world (or just your friends if you activate privacy settings) what you’re up to in 140 characters or less. it’s fun, and a looooooot quicker than blogging. you can catch up with my “tweets” (twitter updates) here or in that red “what am i doing” box in the sidebar to the right>>>. and if you join, we can totally be twitter friends!

speaking of tweeting, i wanted to capture the weather when i woke up this morning: the ground and trees were covered in snow, the sky bright blue. so i opened my window and snapped some shots. i could see movement at the bird feeder but as i’m shortsighted, i couldn’t see what was there, and so just zoomed in and snapped blindly away.

on a total fluke, i captured this, which i think is the perfect “bye-bye, britain!” parting shot:

this morning, i had one of those experiences that makes a person (a person like me) shriek, “what’s wrong with people?!” at a very high decibel. i’d be honoured if you’d let me share it with you. (it involves knickers, if that swings it…)

i was headed to my desk to finish an article i’ve been slaving over, and i noticed there was a pair of knickers (mine, clean, plain cotton, don’t get excited) on a plant in the communal garden outside.

i could see what had happened: they had escaped from the washing line over the weekend. when my mum brought in the washing yesterday, she hadn’t seen the knickers lying abandoned and only in the clear light of day were they, well, clearly visible.

i didn’t exactly jump up to do something about it. because i didn’t think it was that big a tragedy - things have fallen off the washing line before, a t-shirt here, a sock there, and somehow i’ve managed to deal with it. i made a mental note (promptly forgotten) to ask my mum to grab them on her way out or when she next went outside (seeing as i was in my PJs and planning to stay that way). then i pulled up my article and got to work.

a couple of hours later, when i’d moved on to writing about biometric scanners and laverne and shirley (god, i loved that show!) i heard an infernal banging at the door - like the force of ten men. then i heard a whisper.

“diane… there’s someone at the door.”

“i know mum,” i whispered back… “who is it?”

now i know of course there’s a foolproof way to find out, which is to open the door, but my mum was about to have a shower and i was in the aforementioned PJs (yes, still). the post had been delivered, we weren’t expecting a parcel, the meter readers had been the previous week, and so, our rationing went, it couldn’t be good news at the door. so we waited.

then came the infernal banging at the window! what madman was this?

“it better not have been a delivery,” i whispered, as we heard the sound of something pushed through the letterbox.

when we were sure the banger had gone, i went to look. and it was… knickers. my knickers. what the…?

then we heard the creak of stairs and the door of the upstairs flat go bang.

our upstairs neighbour. the one who “can’t do anything else” (apart from look disdainful) about the noise from their television. she had seen the knickers in the plant, and taken it upon herself to rescue them. despite the fact that she had no other business in the garden at the time and it involved trekking up and down stairs to do so.

and then, instead of quietly and discreetly posting them, or leaving them in a subtle place, she decided to bang on our windows and door as if it was a matter of national importance that she embarrass me as fully as possible.

what was her motivation - to let me know that people round here do not put their underwear on top of plants and leave them there? to let me know what a great knicker salvation worker she was? or to comment on the size, style and colour? i’m sorry lady, but you don’t know me well enough to knock on my door whilst holding my underwear.

the implication is that we’re the slobby kind of folks who think chucking underwear around is okay, and we need her to educate us otherwise. but how up in other people’s business do you need to be to care that much about their knickers that you take it upon yourself to ‘rescue’ them from… what, public ridicule? i doubt more than four people had seen them, and it really wasn’t international - and what’s more, who effing cares?

well, my neighbour for one. and clearly, she wants me to know it.

please tell me i’m not the only one who finds this crazy…