Listening to: Twist and Shout (The Beatles)
Wondering: Who the hell it is in Bletchley that keeps reading this stuff.
Eating: Kathy's trifle.
OK, so the stuff is all in the hall, on the landing, in boxes, Ikea bags (so, so handy), suitcases, overnightbags. . . and I keep falling over it all.
The dogs and cat are taped and corked, the van is ready for us to pick up tomorrow and the house is almost sold - stone the crows, we really are going to Orkney.
The next few days promise to be pretty gruelling for yours truly with somewhere in the region of 3,000 miles to be driven.
Tuesday morning I, accompanied by the boy (who enjoyed his 17th birthday in traditional fashion on Saturday - drinking four bottles of strong Belgian lager and three pints of Old Peculier before passing out) and our trusty hound Spike, will set off for the far north, stopping over for a few hours kip in Pitlochry before catching the ferry to Orkney on Wednesday lunchtime.
Once there, we have to catch the second ferry from Kirkwall over to Westray, stumbling into Stoneyhall sometime around 6pm.
Then it's up with the lark the next morning to get the 9am ferry back to Kirkwall, the midday boat back to the Scottish mainland and then blast back down to England for the second load.
The good news is that two of my brothers-in-law have alerted me to the Bishop's Wood beer festival on the Friday night, so if that's not an incentive, I have no idea what is. So. . . after a couple of days R and R, it's back up to Orkney with the rest of the stuff, including Sal's precious bay tree. On the way I hope to stop off at the Benleva Inn at Drumnadrochit (see below) for a night, arriving on Westray on Monday morning before turning around on Tuesday, heading south again.
Having dropped off the van, I have three days to fill before I collect my 14-year-old daughter who is thrilled at the prospect of being stuck on a rock in the North Atlantic for four weeks.
If that don't kill me, nothing will.