Chile chapter finished. Now I have to do a heck of an editing job before we hit the train to Irkutsk because I'm five pages over the limit, never mind actually cutting the text.
Maps finished, photographed so that I can compare the first edit to the amendments the cartographers email me while I'm on the road and sent to James.
Have sent my Lithuania contract to my Lonely Planet editor.
The day before departure is a frenzy of packing, finishing the Peru chapter, and removing all traces of my existence from my room so that Qing can move in in my absense. Pre-trip blues. I don't want to leave; I want just a few days to myself, at home, with no work to do, so that I can just play computer games and read a good book.
Pre-trip injury in the form of a gash in my leg from where I collided with another cyclist at a blind corner; I came off worse than she did. There was blood.
Get less than two hours' sleep before departure day because there's too much to do. This is the first time I've checked in using a Russian passport in 14 years.
There's a fat chap in the departure lounge talking to a familiar-looking man in a grey suit; why, I do believe the besuited man is the Russian consul.
A three-hour sleep later, I'm whisked through the immigration point at Moscow's Domodedovo. I'm no longer Her Majesty's subject.
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