I'm off on the morrow, just me, entrusting myself once more to the good offices or otherwise of R¥anair for a quick look-in on sister, brother, niece and nephew-out-law, the optician of a well-known British chain on Bishops Stortford high street (my distance glasses have not been the same since I accidentally stood a piece of garden furniture on them, and I think my prescription's probably changed again anyway), and the Knitting and Stitching Show at the Alexandra Palace, which my sister has been trying to lure me over for for some years now. As always, it took all the screwing of my courage to the sticking place to decide to commit to a scant four days away, convinced as I am that something catastrophic is bound to happen here in my absence, and as always, this doesn't allow time to get around and see all I'd like to.
Tom has lists of instructions regarding comestibles and cleaning products, and has his survival kit to hand:
so he will not starve (he also has some bananas for banana sandwiches, lest he succumb to scurvy). He has kindly lent me his camera which is smaller than mine and thereby leaving more room in my cabin-baggage-restrictions-size mini-suitcase to stuff with wool.
Back on Monday, wish me, and them, luck.