After months of planning, ok, not quite planning, but thinking of loads of things I wanted to do and actually booking some of them (thanks Marion), the day had finally come when I was about to embark on the Fitz World Tour 2010.
It had been a whirlwind couple of weeks; trying to leave the job in as good a position as possible for the lovely Rachel, (best way to learn is just throw yourself into it Rachel, and drawer space is a luxury not a necessity), buying lots of last minute completely non-essential and hugely expensive items, and having more leaving drinks than Liz Taylor has had husbands.
I had been overwhelmed by all the gifts, cards and good wishes that I had received, and was starting to think that I hadn't actually asked for a four month sabbatical but rather, there had been a petition to have me deported. Whichever, I know I am a truly lucky girl to have such fantastic friends and family.....but if anyone ever repeats that I'll deny it.
With a couple of hours to go before I was due to leave the house a few thoughts occurred to me. Firstly, no matter how good an idea you think it is to stay out drinking until 3am the night before embarking on a 35 hours door to door journey, it really isn't. Secondly, as shiny and lovely as you think your new rucksack is, it's not much good if it was never going to hold more than four pairs of pants.
Having squeezed another couple of pairs in, I was ready to leave, and surprisingly, only about half an hour off the pace. I stood in the hallway and the enormity of what I was about to embark upon hit home (ok, a bit dramatic, but it was quite a big deal for me!). I was going to be away from home for 10 weeks, the majority of that travelling alone, something I'd never done before.....I broke out into a cold sweat.
The cold sweat rapidly turned into a warm sweat as I'd not booked a cab and had no option but to walk to the station. Rucksack on back for the first time, those first few steps down the road were incredibly empowering as I practically bounded away from the house. Bounding was quickly replaced by panting as the weight of the tiny rucksack took hold, added to the fact that I was wearing about eight layers of clothes, due to restricted space within said rucksack.
The journey to the airport went smoothly having met M (Marion, not a Bond movie character) at London Bridge and after a farewell meal at Cafe Rouge, and picking up my anti-malaria tablets from the airport Boots (see Cathy, it was always under control, in fact under control to the sum of £177! Would probably have been cheaper to get Malaria and let the travel insurance cover it).
We were on our way.
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