NOTHING could spoil the thrill of anticipation, but we had inadvertently invoked S**s Law, and thus the inevitable hit the fan

There we all were, standing in the kitchen: my wife Andrea, our twins Harry and Jack and me, all basking in the glow of anticipation and having a last cup of English tea before beginning our Australian adventure. Our only regret was that we couldn’t take our King Charles Spaniel, Poppy, with us. She was to spend the three months with Andrea’s brother and his wife, whose dog Charlie, a Weimaraner, would keep her company. Eyeing all our suitcases, Poppy looked a tad concerned, as we were obviously going somewhere - you know, dogs can sense these things.

Andrea needed to nip to the bathroom for her, hopefully, final visit. “Harry, Jack, don’t forget your travel sickness pills. They’re over there,” she called, waving in the general direction of the kitchen surface and disappearing upstairs. “Take them now.”

Our cases were in the hall, so I went to check that all the tags were in place and to make sure that we had all the necessary passports and visas. It was at least the third time I had checked everything, but I couldn’t help it. All was in order. As we waited for the taxi, the general air of excitement was getting to us all.

Andrea came back down the stairs and went into the kitchen. “Where are my blood pressure pills?” she asked, searching on the kitchen surface. “They were here by the toaster.”

“Oh, we took those. You said they were our travel pills,” said Harry.

And that’s when ‘it’ well and truly hit the fan. “No, I didn’t. I said they were...Oh, my God! You took both of them?”

“One each, yes. Look,” replied Jack, opening his mouth wide to prove it.

I could hear from Andrea’s tone of voice that all was not well. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

“They’ve taken my b****y blood pressure pills. They should have taken their travel pills.”

“What!” I exclaimed. “Why did you leave them lying around? They weren’t to know, were they? Gordon Bennet!” My tone of voice was getting fairly aggressive, I admit.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’ll phone the doctor. See what we should do.”

“Well, make it quick, for God’s sake. The taxi will be here in 10 minutes.”

Andrea managed to get through to the surgery and asked to speak to our doctor. She was obviously trying to hold down her panic, as the receptionist told her that the doctor had not yet arrived. However, he was due within the next half hour, so the receptionist suggested that we go ahead with our plans. She would explain the problem to him and that we were due to fly out to Australia later that morning, and she would get him to phone us while we were on our way to Heathrow. There was no alternative but to do as she suggested, and hope for the best.

The taxi duly arrived, we loaded up our cases and settled down, rather nervously in the circumstances, for the journey to Heathrow. Nearly an hour passed before Andrea finally got the call from the doctor. The tension in the taxi rose, as we all waited anxiously while Andrea listened intently. After what seemed like an age, the call ended and she explained what the doctor had said: “Well, he asked which pills the boys had taken, when and how much. Then I had to tell him about their age, weight and general health condition. Considering all that, he said that there was probably nothing to worry about. However, if either of the boys felt unwell, within a few hours, or seemed to have been affected in any way, then, before flying, we should consult the medical facility at the airport. But he did say, considering the boys’ age and condition, in his opinion that would almost certainly be unnecessary.”

Although we would obviously keep an eye on the boys, the sigh of relief from us all was audible, as the taxi took the slip-road onto the M25 - destination Heathrow. In the event, the boys were fine, thank goodness, and we got to the airport in good time to join the other cast members of my theatre tour, An Inspector Calls, at the check-in desk, ready for our flight to the other side of the world.

Australia is indeed on the other side of the world, somewhere in the region of 11000 miles further away than the bus stop at the end of my road. Nevertheless, when the airline tickets arrived and I discovered that the flight from Heathrow to Sydney (via a stop in Hong Kong) would last 22 hours, it did rather put my moaning about the two-hour journey from said bus stop to rehearsals in London into some sort of perspective. But 22 hours? That’s virtually a whole day. The world will have revolved on its axis by the time we get through baggage reclaim in Sydney. So, here’s an idea, why don’t we just circle over Heathrow and wait for Australia to come round? I mean, it’s bound to eventually, isn’t it? With the Earth spinning at 24,000 miles a day, it would only take about 12 hours, but then I’ve never been much good at figuring out time differences, international date lines and how it’s possible to arrive somewhere several hours before you’ve left your point of departure. But my cunning plan obviously hadn’t occurred to British Airways, and we duly took off, heading south-east in the direction of the Antipodes.

Finally, we had set off on our journey of a lifetime.