Five weeks ago I wrote a post about the fact that my holiday to England was only eight weeks away and I was yet to book anything other than my airfares and the tickets to Theakston Crime Writing Festival – which provided the impetus for me to travel.

Almost every weekend since I’ve commented on my need to organise myself – maps and TripAdvisor tabs open on my laptop. Two weeks ago a friend even held an intervention of sorts – well, Facetimed me to give me suggestions and (ahem) encourage me to book. Something. Anything. Supposedly my accommodation in York which is where I’m heading after the writing festival.

Apparently my planned trip to England is eight weeks away. I know this because the other day I opened the Qantas app on my phone to check upcoming work travel and saw a reminder. Eek. 

I’ve mentioned before I’m not a fan of holiday planning. When I went to Italy in 2018 I only made most of my bookings one month before leaving. And in the lead-up I wrote about the fact I was prevaricating rather than procrastinating, worried about making the ‘right’ decisions. Though ultimately reminded myself that any decision was better than no decisions. And in reality, given I left it so late my accommodation options were more limited than they might otherwise have been. (Although everywhere I stayed was fabulous, so regret was not an issue!)