I am terrible at packing. I really am.
Don't get me wrong, I'm a total Monica and love making lists of things to pack and I'm a dab hand at fitting impossible amounts of clothes into small spaces, but I'm awful at deciding what I should pack and what the National Express won't allow space for on their coaches.
It's because I like to dress to fit my mood, and it's frustrating when I want to wear something but then discover that I haven't got it in my H&M holdall.
I'm sorry if this spills over into cliched and cloying, because I deplore that girl as much as anyone, but I hate being so far away from the boy that is my boyfriend, best friend and all round swell kinda guy. It literally makes me ache.
So now I've got the good kind of butterflies because this time tomorrow I'll be in the city of steel and I can almost guarantee that, 407 days since the first time, my heart will have melted into a pool of girly slush at his feet.