I'm so tired I can't feel my own face.  

I've done more air miles than Captain Kirk in the last month or so and I am currently on yet another aircraft bound for Fort Lauderdale to join the fabulous Celebrity Sillouette for a nine day transatlantic repositioning cruise to Madeira.

Last week I flew to Namibia and sailed with no port days to Cape Verde so with only two nights on dry land in 20 I am contemplating a name change to Jack Sparrow. Pray for my sanity. 

Surely one of the most reassuring feelings in the world is seeing your luggage making its way up the miniature conveyor into the hold of the plane. I'm even more glad to witness this as i write as this morning I wasn't actually in possession of this bag. In fact I didn't know where it was. 

On leaving St Vincent in Cape Verde on Thursday, we (myself and a gaggle of other guest entertainers) took a short, albeit delayed flight to Praia, another in the group of islands before an epic eight hour wait to fly on to Lisbon and then Manchester giving me only 24 hours in the UK before starting this next trip. However, eight hours turned into over 11 hours and as a result we subsequently missed the connection in Lisbon, ended up flying via Brussels to Manchester only landing at 5pm yesterday and with no luggage. Better still, they couldn't assure us at the time that the baggage would make it back into the UK before my flights today so last night was largely spent trying on old cocktail dresses and spare bikinis in the vain hope I could scrape together enough stuff to suffice for this trip. The baggage handling firm were unsure as to whether our bags had re routed the way we had or were indeed still in Lisbon. As regular readers will attest, my luggage has had the habit of going walkabout somewhat regularly recently and my initial thought is always that it has been stolen by someone and that someone on the continent was parading around the streets in my burnt orange 'Alexander Mc Queen's. As I am yet to meet a Belgian with even the most remote taste in footwear I hoped once they'd smelt my dirty laundry they may have put the bag back on the belt and rifled through someone else's wares instead. 

Needless to say, I was being over dramatic as usual and a phone call from the airport at 10pm last night meant I could relax in the knowledge I wouldn't be squeezing myself into a 10 year old cocktail dress this trip and could instead enjoy what turned out to be only 11 hours in my own home. 

Though beleaguered and bedraggled after a travel day from hell I have to admit I really rather enjoyed the last trip. Although we only saw dry land on the first and last days of our voyage, a combination of the company of old friends and the acquisition of new ones meant I was rarely far from a giggle and the afternoon in Namibia made it worth the trip alone. After the obligatory formalities associated with joining a ship in a way port and reacquainting myself with some excellent chums who worked onboard, joined with some of the other entertainers we headed ashore to 'Dune 7' which is allegedly one of the biggest if not the biggest sand dune in the world and though I had witnessed its majesty during the taxi drive from the airport, trying to climb the thing was a different matter altogether. Ill-informed and entirely under prepared (wearing rubber flip flops and taking NO water to the desert) the foot of the monstrosity looked as inviting to me as it did perilous. After the best part of two days travelling and a night of rest in a local hotel I was ready to let off some steam and determined to make it to the top. Needless to say, all but one of our party failed to reach the summit and the one who did became worryingly more mirage-like as he evaporated away from sight amidst the sand and the sun. When he was no longer visible I was convinced he'd fallen off the top or simply combusted in the heat. On our ascent, We were positively jubilant to find him emerging from the palm trees at the base of the sand dune with his tee shirt tucked into his jeans like a cross between Daniel Craig and a beetroot. We reunited and headed off for the next of our desert adventures. 

Ever since being a child I've always been fascinated with monster trucks, so the opportunity for all six of us to ride in the rear of one through the genuine bonafide desert was way too much of a temptation to turn down. Just climbing up those giant tyres alone filled me with memories of my Dad taking me and my brother as kids to watch the enormous machines crushing cars in their wake like matchboxes, and the endless episodes on TV of Bigfoot, the daddy of all monster trucks racing against his rivals around sandy tracks in the states. I never thought I'd get to have my picture taken with one, let ALONE ride in one and the experience in those circumstances was magical. As the engine roared into life I felt like I was 8 again and though the drive was tame in nature, I was still filled with the same sense of adolescent excitement as if I was racing against Bigfoot myself. Not only were we surrounded by the most dramatic scenery but we were laughing and giggling and enjoying each others company amidst miles and miles of baron sand as far as the eye could see. It was like we were part of a movie set. These days are special when you travel on your own as often as I do and even more so when you know you have the prospect of 7 consecutive days at sea in your imminent future. 

The rest of the trip was great as all the entertainers rubbed along really well, enjoying each others individual shows and indeed performing together on more than one occasion. However, as I attested the travel  home was pretty arduous with all but the final flight being delayed. But we took the journey together, a whole gang of us and seldom have I laughed as much as I did these last couple of days.

I seem to be attracting travel traumas somewhat recently. Much to my dismay I appear to be spending more time sorting out issues and problems in my time at home than actually seeing  my family. 

On return from my last Celebrity Cruises contract in March I had a 12 day period in which to arrange an Indian tourist visa purely for disembarking a ship in Cochin and flying home. This process, according to all reliable information should take 2-3 working days and after a trip to the Manchester processing office on what turned out to be an Indian holiday, I thought it safest to drive to Birmingham and hand the passport in myself as the Manchester centre didn't provide a collection service. In short, after a 6am start to drop the passport off within the acknowledged office hours I waited and waited and waited for word from the embassy until two days before I was due to travel to the ship and still without the visa or indeed the passport. As a result of frequent travel I am permitted to hold two passports as its common place to have to send off for visas or to travel to what are described as "incompatible" countries where if you're brandishing a stamp from one nation you're forbidden to travel to another. Now, I HAVE two passports, but the other one is FULL of stamps which means I cannot travel outside of Europe on it as I discovered much to my dismay when I was almost deported from South Africa last year. On calling the central passport office it became apparent the only way to renew the passport within the final 24 hours of my time before leaving for the cruise was in Glasgow the next day at 10am. So I got up at 5am and drove to Glasgow and back from Bolton to get a premium passport. (In place of the word 'premium' feel free to insert 'we'll charge you the earth cause we know you're in a pickle')

So instead of disembarking the cruise in India as originally scheduled, I departed in Sri Lanka, (where a visa can be obtained on arrival) two days early and though I spent half an hour in a pre historic immigration office in the port trying to explain to an official who barely spoke English that I am indeed NOT married to Tiger Woods, the return journey  via Dubai was pretty much stress free, other than some ill advised Sushi consumed after midnight in the airport. 

As my plane takes off right now and I'm swooning over the Manhattan skyline being so close yet so far (sob sob) I am acutely aware of how many places I have been to in the last three weeks alone. Since embarking on my Indian Ocean adventure on the 27th March I have touched down in Munich, Singapore, Penang Malaysia, Sri Lanka, Dubai, Frankfurt, Windhoek Namibia, Walvis Bay Namibia, St Vincent Cape Verde, Praia Cape Verde, Lisbon, Brussels, New York and eventually later Fort lauderdale. 14 airports in 23 days is some going! And though nine days at sea in a row now seems like an awful lot of nothingness, I am really ready for a bit of stress free, quality 'me time' (and a quick trip to the Sawgrass Mall maybe if I land in time tonight) There's nowhere better than a solstice class Celebrity ship in my opinion, if you need some R&R in a modern luxurious environment. I can't wait to hit the spa and the gym and the stir fry bar. A bit of detoxing and a lot of sleep is exactly what the doctor ordered. I'm a very lucky girl to be paid to do this, I'm well aware. 

My next adventure takes me to the Norwegian Fjords on the beautiful Celebrity Eclipse and on this rare occasion Steve will be able to travel with me so whilst being apart for another nine days now is very tough so soon after my last contract, knowing we'll have the best part of a week together in May makes it easier to swallow. Well, that and the fact I can go shopping in America tonight ;-)