Once more into the breach. Saturday 25th May - Dicky Beach

My father never explained why, but used to often remind me that "a boy should always carry a piece of string, a shilling and a pocket knife", and so it is that for going on three quarters of a century I have always followed part of that advice.   

I followed the bit about the pocket knife at least.  I have a small one on my key ring which is undoubtedly doomed like its predecessors to meet its end in an airport security bin on that one day I forget it's there, and a second, checked-luggage multi tool with pliers and longer blade in a leather pouch goes where ever we do.  This second knife is I think, an attempt to make up for the absence of the shilling and the penny.   

That knife, when it is not travelling on a boat or in a checked-in bag, has a home in the door pocket of the van and although I had a vague Idea that I'd got it out to stick in the bag, it's whereabouts were not apparent.

It seems that these days, a journey across the planet begins with at least two trips to visit the van, to pat it's little slumbering nose, ready loaded so it can be ready to take off at a moment's notice on our eventual return,  to retrieve a couple of things we'd forgotten we might need.

That knife it turned out was hiding, not in the van, but on my desk under the mound of papers that life in this paperless age dictates are necessary to travel across borders.   

The van resumed it's slumber, and with just one sleep to go until we depart, one of us sat about thinking about what he might need do next, printing eTickets and gathering paper, while the other simply got on with it, as is her way.