Next stop: Liverpool, UK. Due to our somewhat disastrous start to this year's campaign, I shall beg Dear Hubby to take us to Anfield so that I may sacrifice the family cat on holy footballing ground and ask for blessings for our brave men in red. This will teach Thomas to hiss at me.
This H1N1 virus bit is worrying me but I can't see what I can do about it save popping Connor into a plastic bubble and not letting him out till he's 21. From what I've been reading, most people who get it recover from it. It's not as deadly as bird flu and we live in Jakarta, which is probably bird flu capital of the world. So we decided we'd continue to live our lives and not hide.
I'm not even packed yet. Mindful of our last trip's packing disasters, I started looking for our passports and tax cards last weekend. I also carry a copy of Connor's birth certificate with me. Mind you, it's hard having a baby who doesn't look like he's yours. At Singapore border controls, I was asked to state the name of my son as the officers squinted at me, then Connor, then back at me. Tell you what, Tuan, let me whip out my boobie and breast feed my son to prove he's mine.
Actually it's less funny than when Dear Hubby and I were just married and I was careful to carry a copy of our marriage cert with us. You know... angmoh man... Asian woman... I love you long time... mail order brides from SE Asia... oh well.
May not be online for a bit as we will be on the road. Ooh... sausage rolls and Asda... here I come!