People keep asking us if we’ve packed and for some strange reason I sense a teeny tiny pinch of surprise in their reactions when we say no. “Are you crazy?” they cry. “What do you mean you planned to do all your packing two nights before you leave? What the bloody hell’s wrong with you?!” Not being of a very balanced nature and instead preferring to follow a path of any available extreme, I’ve decided the best way to deal with my inability to travel light is to simply take nothing. Three days’ worth of clothes max. Trousers that convert into shorts by a zip. Absolutely no high-heeled shoes (it still hurts me to say that out loud). Perhaps a few packets of disposable knickers pinched from the waxing salon down the road. It’s like a new Amber has emerged: from the one who used to almost literally pack the kitchen sink for an overnight stay (not quite the sink but I have been known to take my Vitamix and juicer if I can get away with it!) to the sleeping hippy being forced to wake up.
But despite the lack of packing, it’s not like we haven’t been productive; on the contrary, we’ve been doing incredibly useful things. Imran’s been practising his mixing skills just in case he can manage to convince some Brazilians to let him DJ at a beach party. DJ Ishmail is going global, don't you know. And I’ve been exercising my pelvic floor muscles in a bid to improve my bladder control, just to make sure that I don’t need to stop too often whilst trekking up a mountain to squat near a bush. It’s not generally my preferred way of watering plants. I think it’s helping – I’ve had no accidents so far when I’ve jumped up and down and squealed with excitement about our trip. Only 4 days to go… I’m so excited I could wet myself!"
Imran's answer: "I'm practically j*zzing in my pants."