3rd September 2004, Peterborough. I’ve got the jitters.

So it's finally here. The trip I've been dreaming of for years is about to happen. We’ve left London. The flat has finally been rented. I’m at Mums. Tim is at his Dad’s. My bags are packed, and I'm scared shitless. I'm not quite sure why. Fear of the unknown perhaps. Or maybe it's because The Lonely Planet for South America is enough to make anyone cancel their flight. It tells you not to be paranoid and then scares the shit out of you with warnings of fatal muggings, murderous taxi drivers and rabid animals. I'm hoping we've had all the theft we are due already. Tim had his wallet stolen at the Notting Hill Carnival last week and we were burgled a few days ago. I had to break down in tears before Barclays decided that they actually could get a card to me in 24hours.

Violent crime aside I'm still full with a feeling of dread. Will Tim and I drive each other crazy? Will anything happen to my family or friends while I'm away? Will I actually enjoy it? What if I hate travelling? I’ve jacked in my job – and it was a good one too. Was fate trying to tell me something when I finally got to cover the Oscars this year? Was she screaming ‘No! This is the best job you’ve ever had….don’t do it!!’ ? Well, if she was, it’s too late. No turning back now. The tickets are in my hand. The flat is no longer my own for the next 8 months. And anyway, what’s to say it’s not going to be the best year ever? One where I got to cover the Oscars and go travelling all in the space of 12 months. Uno, dos, tres……