You only need seven shirts. Max 10...

...said the lady who packed twenty pairs of socks into a Space Bag for me, knowing full well that I'm travelling to a place where 90% of the time I'll be wearing my Havaianas. As my suitcase slowly fills up with clothes, my wardrobe gradually empties. It has come to my attention that I don't wear a lot of the clothes that I own, which isn't many to begin with. Most of them are, as mother would kindly say, "from when I was bigger". But over the past few years - and especially after my trip to the Philippines last year - the number of shirts in my closet has increased significantly, and I can't decide which 7-10 to bring with me to Hawai'i.

Perhaps one for every colour of the rainbow?

In other news, TWO DAYS... (and 20 hours, but still!) I'm a bit worried because I don't yet have a place to stay when I arrive in Honolulu. If it comes down to it, I may just have to camp on the beach for a bit. The thing that worries me about that is the number of, you know, b-o-d-y-s buried in the sand. Most horrifying is the idea of Nikki and Paulo emerging from out of nowhere as if they've been there all along, begging me for diamonds, acting terribly... If there's anything I've learned from Lost, it's that a gun can sometimes be your best friend.

*shoots Nikki and Paulo dead*

Mahalo!