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The Art of Preparation

April 15, 2011
Rarely has the field of preparation been one that I have excelled in. A lifetime of being comfortably last minute has seen me craft a skilfully shambolic disposition. No matter.

Surely packing and whatnot can be left until five minutes after the door has been shut and I’m on my way. Never mind. Not one to be fussy, the random collection clothes will surely fold themselves neatly in my bag mid-flight. Probably.
Some tapping may keep me alert, while also systematically fanning flames of those around. Many have told of people’s inner werewolves that come out at night – remember to bring garlic. Technically I can’t stand the stuff, but then neither can the creatures of the night.

One cannot go on any trip without some sort of head synchronisation though. So in short – pair of socks, one underwear, spare trousers, shirt, t-shirt, notebook, suntan lotion, various cleaning assortments, electronic gadgets and my wits. Simple.

Regardless, by the time Monza is graced, my body will already be creaking and eyes will be bloodshot. A late night walk, followed by a very late bus journey, to a death hours wait in a white-walled lounge, leading to an early morning flight, bringing me to a mid-morning bus journey and a late morning taxi, which will unload me at the historic gates of the circuit (hopefully) just prior to midday tomorrow.

Door-to-door in just under twelve hours – and then the day begins. Beautiful. I should be used to this by now.

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