Excitement

Have I mentioned that I am going to see Plácido in concert in Dublin on Wednesday?

Did I mention I was really excited?

I'm trying not to get over-excited. I'm trying to concentrate on the logistics of the journey, why, ultimately, I hate flying, that in order to get a 10am plane I have to leave the house at 6.30. That I know if I left the house at 6.30 and caught a train I could be in the centre of Paris by the time I'm still stuck at Gatwick Airport.

I'm wondering should I get some Euros from the bank tomorrow or rely on the ATM at the airport.

I'm worrying about the shopping I have to do - corned beef for my sister, white pudding for Jimmy. Me a veggie, too.

I'm focusing on my first glass of Guinness on the banks of the Liffy. I'm fretting about non-smoking pubs. I'm looking forward to seeing purple trams that go 'ding, ding'.

I'm inadvertently having fun making an assorted assortment of people seriously jealous, told I'll be drooling, told I'll go all girlie.

But you know what, I'm so excited I'm trembling with nerves...

And in forty eight hours, it will all be over.

At least I'll have Covent Garden (twice) and Berlin to look forward to...