The night before our flight to Athens proves to be an absurdly busy, nervous tract of time. Erroll becomes irritated at me for taking a laissez faire attitude toward this our very first overseas vacation (without Erroll, mind; just me, mum and Kingsley), mum jittery about inherent perils of international travel and me confused about what to pack and what I will wear.
What shall I take for the baby? How much clothing? Will the nappies in Greece be expensive or well priced? What items of Kingsley’s newborn wardrobe are appropriate for a week in wintery Athens? How about taking his buggy (no) or his car capsule (a resolute yes)? And of course the endless debate on where and how the infant boy shall sleep when we finally arrive at my Aunt Marina’s small inner city one bedroom apartment.
When it all got too much for my delicate state, I ditched the packing and the planning and took Kingsley out for a walk. At the dancing fountains of the Dubai Mall we met the local constabulary – glamorous, tall, athletic ladies covered scarves who drive Lamborghinis for Police cars. We posed; Kingsley slept, and best of all I forgot just how much ‘stuff’ a tiny five and a half kilo human needs for his very first flight abroad.