The Big Day

26.02.2012 - 11.12am

Here begins what I hope is an in depth, candid account of a woman alone, making her way in the world and pressing forth with vigor and gumption. Either that, or things will take a distinctly Bridget Jones turn and everything will go tits up from the off.

I'll leave out the details of my goodbye at the airport with Gordon, mainly because it's a bit raw still, and also because even if I don't write it down, I will probably remember it for the rest of my life anyway.

Pressing on, and after a couple of phonecalls to beloved friends and O2 (oh how I love speaking to the gang at their 'UK based call centres'!) the time flew by and it was time to get to the gate via one of those vaguely entertaining transit trains that takes forever to arrive and about 2 seconds to get to its destination once it's picked you up.

Once there, I hurriedly looked up how to use the NYC subway before I didn't have the luxury of free internet any more. It turns out to be horrendously difficult, so I'm looking forward to that. (N.B - was actually fine after I deciphered the map. I am now at the hostel. It's clean and bright, but there's nobody else here so I am feeling rather lonely. Will go out and explore in a bit to try and combat the homesickness).

A few Italian ladies, who I can only assume had been to Stockholm judging by the large quantities of 'I Heart Stockholm' merchandise they were carrying about, queued up excitedly in front of me while I padded morosely through to the front of the queue with puffy, swollen eyes and a glum face. What I love about the UK is that nobody asks you if you're OK when you are / have been crying in a public place. Mind you, I am just as guilty as anyone of this, and I expect this no-nonsense, get-on-with-it attitude will serve me well in the near future as I fake a stiff upper lip mentality as things inevitably go wrong in (hopefully) the most comical of ways.

I think my favourite part of the Heathrow experience (and thanking God I am not here during the Olympics!) was the moment when I rolled my trolley up to the check in desk and the manager exclaimed 'Oooh look! Mr Cookie!' in a twee & far too cheery fashion as she saw my novelty luggage tag (bought for me by one Emily Darby). Coupled with not being offered wine on the flight as they thought I looked underage, this is starting out well.

Anyway, I probably ought to get out of here and stop feeling sorry for myself.

Laters!

xxxx