This is it

In the immortal words of Whitesnake, Here I go again on my own.

Saturday 28th July

Cheated a bit and got a lift to Loughborough train station from one of my best friends. Very emotional send off. Did my best to hold it together

Said goodbye to the fridge and kettle (my favourite appliances) the dog and Mum and Dad...

Such a lovely day. The sun is shining and I've never been so nervous in all my life, kind of

This blog kind of goes over two days because while I'm saying goodbye to my friends and family today, tomorrow I fly and say goodbye to Henry (at the airport obviously).

Sunday 29th July

Getting to the airport was alright. Getting through check in was alright. Getting to security was fine. Letting go of Henry wasn't. If I'd have looked back, I'd have balled my eyes out. The security guy asked if I was alright. I clearly wasn't. Dick.

Didn't set the metal detector off as well. Well proud. It seems odd that they don't let you use mobile phones in the security bit. The knives thing I get, but phones. Still....

Departures is an odd place. Suppose I should get used to departure 'lounges' which in fact, aren't lounges at all. My lounge at home has a carpet, and a big TV and comfortable sofas. This 'lounge' has plastic lino flooring, metal seats and the TV only shows flight information. Rubbish

Total mind blank....

My flights delayed. By at least an hour. Typical. Just what I need to make myself less nervous. Scheduled departure was 14.05, now it's supposed to be departing at 14.20. Didn't expect this from BA. Honestly. I might strike :p

Smiley in a blog. Really Oliver?

Referring to ones self in third person, really?

Oh lord. Flight delayed again until 15.12 but didn't actually takeoff until 4pm. Quite funny because it took only 5 minutes to get over Brighton. The pier looked lovely from 10,000 feet. I've attached a generic 'aeroplane wing photo' in case you all wondered what they looked like.

As I write this, the enormity of what I've done has hit me. I'm leaving the known, the safe, everything, to go in search of something, when I don't even know what it looks like, or indeed if it exists.

Someone asked me a week ago if I was nervous. The answer is probably no. I'm not nervous of leaving. I'm nervous of not finding what I'm looking for. I'm sure you're all reading this thinking 'you pretentious f***er' but the truth is, I'm so nervous, that to stay, would only make it worse.

I went through a horrible five minutes in the departure lounge, just before I had a little word with myself, where I considered, just for a second, walking back through the security gates, getting in a taxi and giving my home address. Once i'd realised it would probably cost about £600, I quickly had a rethink.

I've rambled, and number one rule of blogging is not to ramble. Coincidentally, rule number two is not to mention rule number one.

Just had my complimentary sandwich. Someone care to explain the milk?! (picture attached)

So for now. I'll say ciao. Not strictly in Rome yet, but I'm as good as. Unless someone goes ballistic on the plane and we end up being forced to land in some godforsaken French town somewhere, where the only way to communicate with the locals is hand signals and noises, the next stop is Italy and the adventure, (again, I'm being pretentious) begins.

Much love