No, I don’t mean Christmas, but two weeks and two days until I fly off on my next mullet-hunting adventure.

I’m going to be in Brisbane for New Year (more on that later) and then I have two weeks in the land that gave us short, fat film directors, strange dances at the halfway line, and mutilated vowels.

So this evening, I have been doing a bit of planning and research, trying to figure out how I will get around New Zealand and how I will get to the mullets. And by wonderful coincidence, I received emails from two different friends in New Zealand as I did so, asking how the plans were coming along.

I’m so glad to be going. New Zealand has (along with Iceland) been at the top of my travel wish-list for years, and it’s fantastic I am finally getting to go, albeit for much less time than I would have liked. But what with being very busy at work in recent weeks, I’ve not really had a chance to do much preparation or get excited.

Tonight, however, I’ve done both.

When I’m going on a big trip, having it in the diary (and on the credit card bill) is never quite enough to make it seem real or worth looking forward to. It’s often only once I start pouring over maps, websites and so on that the adreneline-fuelled mesh of anticipation, excitement and not a little fear sends a tingle down my spine that tells me it’s really happening.

For the first time with regards to New Zealand, I’ve finally got the message – I am really going.

I’ve still got heaps to do in the next two weeks and two days, though…