This is going to come off sounding like an appalling whinge from an ungrateful tosser, but… what the hell. It’s never stopped me in the past.
Because I’ve managed to find one of the only small things possibly wrong with getting paid to travel to exotic locations around the world for a living: getting ready for those trips.
In four days’ time I’m flying out to Buenos Aires, where I’ve got a couple of days to chill before heading down to Ushuaia and then boarding a ship and sailing to Antarctica, all care of the lovely people at Chimu Adventures.
To say I’m kind of excited would be like saying Charlie Sheen is kind of mental. The trip is going to be incredible, without doubt a dream come true.
The crap I’m grappling with right now, however, is more the stuff of nightmares come true, as I attempt to write enough columns, blogs and stories to keep myself in business for the three weeks I’ll be off the radar somewhere in the Drake Passage.
Most people’s jobs are the same, I guess: going away overseas doesn’t reduce the amount of work you have to do, it just reduces the amount of time you have to do it in.
So this week I’ve written three blog entries for the Herald, three columns for the Sun-Herald, finshed off a story for the YHA magazine, plus done some freelance sub-editing. All while trying to organise all the things I’ll need in Antarctica (warm clothes, UV lens for my camera, penguin repellent).
Then there’s some invoicing to do, late payments to chase up, an old washing machine to try to sell, a dodgy internet account to sort out, and I have to remember to buy a jar of Vegemite for my mate Nick in Argentina.
Like I said, I’m a giant whinger. But shit I’ll be glad to hop on that plane on Sunday…