I Am An Utter Shambles

I just spent a good hour looking for a Eurostar ticket that doesn't exist.  It is 23:11 and I haven't packed - my train leaves in 9 hours.  I don't have any currency, I haven't booked a hotel and I have no clean clothes. Luckily, I get paid tomorrow.

I pity a certain Mr Robert Kitt as my lack of organisational skills does not bode well for Best Man duties. Still, I do have a passport, a poxy camera with a broken screen, a battered old travel diary, some pens, Neal Stephenson's "The System of the World" and a sizeable spot on my forehead.

My room needs a clean, I need to get some Daktarin for a bout of athlete's foot and I could really do with a decent nights sleep.  That is not going to happen now.  Obviously, I could actually do some important stuff like find the toothpaste, consider packing a razor or wonder where my hat is.  Instead, I type this arse to all and sundry.  Priorities, Johnny Boy.

I lack any manner of guidebook with useful information within.  I have no real clue about accommodation, but have a few recommendations from an old school friend who I'll be meeting.  I have no idea what the weather is like and I don't know how to get from Gard de Nord to Austerlitz in Paris.  Still, I have 8 hours to find out, so I'm not that bovvered, innit?

Spanish that was crap to begin with is hideously rusty and my head is buzzing from a proposal I have submitted for work and an email that is sitting in my inbox asking for more information that a work colleague is not going to get.  I shouldn't have just eaten that cheese sandwich.  Oh, and I can't remember any French.

I'm truly clueless.