Pass the Kleenex

You might recall I had begun the big countdown to my last day at work, when I had 45 (no wait, 50) days left to go. Well time has passed since then, and I'm down to about 20 days - I've lost count again.

But my attention has turned to farewell parties. In fact, I've already had a few people just this week asking me whether there is any big send-off planned. I wouldn't mind if someone just treated me like a cruise liner, belted me upside the head with a bottle of champagne, and pushed me onto the pavement. But I think there will be a need to have a more ceremonial affair than that.

And with the fun and frivolity that comes with the party atmosphere, I am tinged (and I mean slightly) with the sadness that comes from leaving a bunch of people whose lives I've shared for the past - count 'em - SEVEN YEARS. Yikes.

I will no doubt dissolve into a blubbery mess at the time of my departure, telling all and sundry that I love them dearly bla bla bla. Someone who articulated those sentiments a little more eloquently than I think I'm capable of is Shauna, the Aussie ex-pat whose blog I've come to read ultra regularly.

When it comes to saying goodbye to those people who know me best, I think a packet of Kleenex will quickly become my new handbag.