Not quite Go! yet. But nearly....
Today we played at being normal, ie not doom-prophesying, fretful, and racked by anxiety. The Lovely Son dug enough of the allotment for me to plant 3 rows of potatoes which were chitting on the windowsill, and whose sprouts would have flagged before my return, and some garlic. The dog and her bedding have been washed; she has had her fringe trimmed so that she can see my luggage better, and is having a major mope. Poor little thing, it's bad enough when just one of us is leaving, but the LS goes away tomorrow too. I tidied the kitchen to within an inch of its life, then we ate up some leftover curry, and generally messed about aimlessly till it was time for the online check-in facility to open in British Airways' virtual world.
To my relief, they appear to have allocated me a decent seat, by a window in a row of two, with a cot point opposite - it seems rather unlikely that they would put anyone else's baby in a cot opposite my seat, so I'm assuming that I will have some decent legroom. Shame about not having decent (i.e. long) legs to fill it with. I could have changed seats, but this one seemed fine, so I left it as allocated, and hope I will be proved right.
After this, I calmed down a bit, having worried neurotically about being stuck in the middle of a row, as I once was on a trip to India, struggling with claustrophobia I didn't know I had until that flight, and/or about being next to the loos, with very large people in the the queue taking turns to lean on you. Lovely niece Laura had such a seat on a trip from Toronto, and complained so vigorously about it for the next month that I now think of it as a fate worse than death. Or the cause of a new phenomenon: Air Toilet Queue Rage.
Suzy and Lesley brought going-away presents, which I shall photograph and show you, and you will then be able to visualise what I shall be doing on the journey, exhorting other passengers to join in, bribing them with sweets.