After all of the crises in which I had been involved in 2013 (and we were by no means finished yet) I was glad to have found a few weeks' breathing space in which to clear off and chill out.

But even now, as I'm preparing to depart, I'm having serious issues.

With having been stranded in the USA in 2002 when my credit card was pulled from under my feet due to "unusual spending patterns", ever since then I've been keeping three or four bank accounts going, with an International bank card from each, so that that kind of thing never happens to me again. But none of that is any use if you can't find half of the cards.

And so the night before my departure, I didn't manage to get anything in the way of sleep with all of this going on in my head. Wide awake early in the morning, I started off by playing another round of "hunt the bank cards" to no effect, and so abandoned the effort for a major packing session for the things that I forgot to pack last night.

And now I can't find the charger for Marianne's video camera which, thinking on, I have left plugged into the electric socket in the living room of the Brussels apartment.

And no dictaphone either. That's in the pocket of the jacket that is hanging up on a hook in the corridor of Mariann'e apartment. That's a tragedy, if ever there was one. I'll be sunk without that.

A quick check-over and there is worse to come. I couldn't find the keys to my storage box and my safety deposit box in Canada, and that will be a tragedy. I definitely remember without any doubt that when I closed up my storage locker back in April 2012, I put the keys into a zipped pocket.

They live in the zipped pocket of the grey "North American Electrical Bag" and that was where I was expecting to find them.

But they aren't there, and in any case I didn't remember opening the suitcase again after I locked up the storage unit. I tipped out my sac banane where there are about four zipped pockets, and the keys weren't there either, of course

Desperate times call for desperate measures and so I put a couple of batteries for the Ryobi Plus One angle grinder on charge just in case. It's as well to be prepared, and that will sort out the men from the boys of course.

After that, even more desperate measures were called for and I started going through all of the waste bins.

I'm glad I did go through the waste bins because I found my missing personal telephone directory NOTE TO SELF - have a word with Cécile about her method of tidying up. I found lots of other disagreeable objects but no keys and at 08:52 I called it a day and started to pack everything, including the angle grinder and the batteries, away.

However, I had a sudden flash of inspiration. There's a zipped pocket on the hold-all that I use for the computer and camera, and so in desperation, I emptied that out. Sure enough, there were the missing keys!
Phew!
That was a close shave! I unpacked the angle grinder and the batteries again.

But there's still tons of stuff that I need that I can't find, but right now I'm past caring. I'm leaving here in 5 minutes and I shan't be back until October 15th. I'll go with what I've got and manage without the rest.

At least I do have a dictaphone now, though. Round at Liz's for lunch in between recording our two radio programmes and while I was busy parking up Caliburn out of the way of the traffic (here he is, all nicely out of the way), she had a rummage in her drawers and out popped a digital dictaphone. It has the air of doing whatever I need it to do, for which I am extremely grateful.

And I also took the opportunity while I was here of making a pile of butties for the journey. There's no food in the vicinity of the hotel where I'll be staying this evening, and I have been caught short on several occasions in the past when it comes to airlines forgetting about my dietary requirements.

But overall, this journey is a disaster in the making if ever I saw one, and so I have prepared this year's song well in advance of departure. I'll be riding around rural Canada and the North-Eastern United States with Warren Zevon's "Send Lawyers, Guns and Money To Get Me Out Of This", off his Excitable Boy album, going round and round in my head.

Somehow it seems quite appropriate.

Once we had finished recording the radio sessions for Radio Arverne, Liz dropped me off at the station in plenty of time for my little train to Lyon.

This train wasn't as rattly or as bangy as the one last time I came here, and I had quite a comfortable seat. Nothing at all exciting happened during the voyage, which makes a change.

Travelling via Lyon is much more civilised than trying to go via Paris and I had time to eat a couple of my butties and drink a coffee in peace. Quite a contrast to what would happen if I were to go via Paris, struggling around up and down stairways on the metro with an enormous suitcase during the rush hour.

In the TGV though we were all crammed in like sardines. I was lucky in that I boarded early and so I managed to grab one of the few remaining places on the luggage rail halfway down the carriage. The one by the door, with easy access, was ram-jam full. Anyone who came after me was struggling for luggage space.

It really is ridiculous - why don't they have a luggage van and a baggagiste on each of the trains? That would make everything so much simpler.

We had a good 25 minutes wait before departure, due to a tardy connection, then off we hurtled into the night with kids screaming and all other kinds of nonsense. And not even a place to swing a cat. I hate to think what this would be like on a Saturday evening

That 25 minutes ended up as being a whopping great 44 minutes by the time that we arrived at the station at Charles de Gaulle Airport Terminal 2, and although that might seem like bad news to some, it is in fact the first bit of good news that I have had for about a hundred years because it entitles me to a refund of 25% on my ticket - something that I shall be following up with vigour.
In fact, I did receive the refund just about three weeks after making the application. No complaints there, then.

Up in a crowded lift from the railway station on the first floor to the exit on the fifth floor, right into a heaving mass of people waiting for the hotel shuttle buses. I can't think that I have ever seen so many people up here before.

Last year I stepped out of the station and onto the bus - this year I think that everyone else's bus must have done 5 or 6 trips before mine came. But at least that had dispersed the masses and we were a mere 12 on the bus.

It does occur to me that in all of the times that I have been here at Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport, I've never ever taken a photo of the terminals.

Of course these days, an injudicicious photo anywhere on an airport can have the most frightful consequences, such is the fear and paranoia that Western Governments have instilled into their citizens these days. Nevertheless, here's a photo of Terminal Two, just across the way from where the bus stop is.

Anyway, the bus eventually turned up and off we trundled down the D212 to the hotel.

First thing that I did upon arrival, after checking in of course, was to have a shower (and we aren't talking about the OUSA Exeecutive Committee here). A shower is by far the best way to relax at the end of a stressful day.

I also configured the new laptop for the internet and downloaded a pile of files as well as a FTP program ready for when I hit the streets in North America.

And having done all that, I hit the sack. Day One was over.

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