Jun 06

In three days I’m heading to France. Hopefully.

At some stage while I’ve been living in the States, it became common to talk about, “It’s two / three / 18 sleeps away.” As opposed to days for some reason, but whatever, different ways of measuring the same thing I suppose. Today is Monday and I’m leaving Thursday whether you paint it in days, nights, millimeters or the Richter Scale.

The one nagging doubt lurking in my mind of course, as it always is on occasions like this, is whether I get on the plane. Traveling standby is wonderful, and the few dollars it costs extra to bump up to a premium class possibly the greatest bargain of all time, but “standby” is exactly what it sounds like – ie “You may get stuck.”

So in the next few days I will get the flights’ loads checked by my friend, and fingers crossed I get on a plane across the Atlantic somehow. There are six or seven different routes to Paris from the USA so hopefully I will squeeze on one, though often it’s the flight from New Orleans to the connecting plane that is the harder ticket.

Still, I’m hopeful. And excited. And ready.

The European Championships is Northern Ireland’s first tournament in 30 years. It’s going to be blinking flipping great, believe me.

So I will be back in July and I will regale you with tales of daring-do and high jinks. Keep your fingers crossed…

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