Pens. Stationery. It’s nice to have something new for a long-planned holiday. A black Frixon pen and a hardback journal seemed just the thing for writing as we travelled through South Africa, Botswana and Zimbabwe.

With lots of anecdotes and observations recorded, we arrived in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, nearly at the end of our holiday. Having twice tried to escape the persistent on-site booking agent at our very welcoming hotel, we soon found ourselves signed up for several activities.

The next morning we were up and breakfasted early, to be punctual and meet our friendly mini-bus driver in the courtyard of our hotel in the “outer suburbs” of Victoria Falls. Off we went to gather one more family joining us on the morning Victoria Falls Tour. They were at the more centrally located Victoria Falls Hotel, where already the mist from the falls could be felt. A famous hotel, which perhaps in their minds allowed them to keep us waiting. We quickly dubbed them the “Late” family.

On arrival at the falls, our guide very helpfully provided our small group of six with information that clearly he had given to many others. “Feel free to leave things on the bus, and be sure to wear a rainjacket. You will get wet.”

Of course, we had heard this excellent advice already, from friends who had previously visited, and in various guidebooks. So, we dutifully left items we wouldn’t be needing in the bus, and donned our rainjackets.

We walked the 15 viewpoints along the falls, the Late children often scampering ahead or lagging behind as we took in the lush scenery, and marvelled at the unceasing water cascading off cliff side opposite, creating a cloud of mist. April, so it was the high-water peak season, hence the last six or so viewpoints merited only a cursory glance in the rain which was formed by the mist. Drenched, as we persevered until we saw Victoria Falls Bridge at the end of the trail.

Our light “it doesn’t really rain much in Adelaide” jackets didn’t help much. Perhaps we should’ve considered the long navy ponchos available for rent, looking not unlike a group of over-sized flying bats resting on the fence along the entrance driveway. They may have kept you drier. Until you glanced at Mrs Late in her rented navy poncho, who by around the half-way mark, had already given up keeping the hood on, had undone a few buttons and was joyfully allowing the splashing water around her legs.

I had deliberately put my handbag (containing, as advised, just “essential” items), in a plastic bag. In retrospect, perhaps additional plastic bags may have been better. Or, in retrospect, I should have heeded the word “essential” somewhat more literally, and left other belongings on the bus, including my travel journal, which I always carry with me .

Soaked from head to foot, we dripped back on to the bus. I realised why the tour booking-agent assured us that we would return to the hotel to change prior to heading out for our next activity!

Later, after our delightfully dry helicopter tour, we settled down for lunch and drinks at the hotel. With a couple of hours before our next excursion, we tried to dry off all our belongings which were wet from the falls.

Taking slightly damp items out of the handbag, we laid them on the hotel room bed, and wiped miscellaneous things dry. We took everything out of Tom’s wallet, laying out rows of banknotes in various denominations – a new take on money laundering? Disappointed to discover that a small pool of water had gathered in one corner of the handbag, despite the plastic-bag attempt at keeping everything dry. Oh no, my travel journal! Damp all along the edges!

Tom, being the ever-helpful husband, decided it was time to dry the banknotes with the hotel-room hair dryer. He then moved on to the journal. Imagine my horror when, turning further pages to assist the drying process, I realised the heat from the hair dryer was causing the erasable pen-ink to turn invisible! My holiday memories were literally disappearing before my eyes!

“Why?” I berated myself, “Why did I let Tom loose with a hair drier?”

“Why would I leave my journal in my handbag?”

“Why didn’t I have more plastic sealable bags in my handbag?”

“Why would I even take my handbag?”

“Why on earth would I use an erasable pen?!”

“Why didn’t I keep my scribbled notes that I’d made before writing them up in my travel journal? They’ve all been thrown away.”

Fortunately, I only had a couple of days to fret in this way, as we were soon returning to Australia. Arriving home, having sleeplessly gone over these haunting questions, I tried the internet advice – put the erasable pen writing which has disappeared into the freezer. I was glad to discover it does actually work! My memories, albeit somewhat feint, are still there, on the pages of my travel journal.

A few months later, I noticed a friend’s document was missing a sizeable chunk, and clearly written in erasable pen. “It’ll be fine,” I said, with a knowing smirk, “just pop it in the freezer.”