Hello, and welcome to what I hope will be a series of updates from the road! Today marked my departure from the UK, with a course set for Melbourne via Doha.

I went to bed and barely slept the night before, the combination of nerves and having to wake up at the ungodly hour of 4am left me feeling rather queasy as I heaved myself into my dad’s car, ready for an early flight from Heathrow. As we drove along the deserted M4, I questioned why I had decided to do this to myself, apprehensive and aware that I now wasn’t going to see my mum (or more importantly our numerous pets) for around 3.5 months.

After checking in and a bittersweet final breakfast, I said a tearful goodbye to my dad at departures. Determined not to look back, I made my way through customs looking like a young woman ready to conquer the world- snivelling and clutching a plastic bag of toothpaste, deodorant and Nivea. I promptly followed this up by having a pair of craft scissors stupidly left in my travel pencil case removed. I apologise to customs officers for appearing to be a hysterical scissor-smuggling maniac, I hope you enjoy using them.

After perusing Duty Free, I had the epiphany that I should shun university and make my fortune selling Paddington keyrings for the Heathrow ‘bargain’ price of £12.99. My earlier faux pas was followed by success, where I defeated a man I shall dub Queue Weasel, who it appears gets his kicks from trying to passive-aggressively undertake people in the shuffle to board the plane. What vexed me most was his reluctance to actually overtake, instead opting to loiter at my shoulder like Jacob Marley’s ghost, pressuring me to step back and let him on. I refused to cave however, and sat back, smug at my Darwinian superiority in the race to find an allocated seat.

The first plane journey (6 hours) was surprisingly easy and for the first time, my worries were eclipsed by excitement at the prospect of new freedom. I got off at Doha keen to stretch out and in need of sustenance. The airport is vast, with lots of space but not a lot in it bar designer shops or the odd WH Smith and in the soupy humid atmosphere I trudged around looking to no avail for a sandwich that didn’t look like a plastic accessory for a child’s kitchen. Having found a bottle of water that was quickly confiscated on boarding my flight to Melbourne and sustained by an Alpen bar, I was ready for my flight to Australia. All 13 hours of it.

This has to have been one of the longest nights of my life, not aided by the woman behind, who I shall name Shoe-san, who seemed to pass the time by exhaling angrily, kneeing my back when I tried to sleep and putting her BARE foot on my hand rest. Bored of films and salty in-flight meals I tried to sleep curled up across two seats with no luck as my feet poked over the edge and Shoesan returned with a vengeance, displaying her eagerness to join the cast of ‘Stomp’ by clattering around and slamming her tray into my back. The view below seemed an endless mass of ocean and it seemed years before we began to pass over the arid landscape of Australia- mainly dusty yellow mountains scored by dark blue veins of water. When I finally emerged the other side, I felt not only proud that my documents and I had survived the flight, but also that I had the clemency to allow Shoesan (who ironically slept peacefully) to survive too, having decided against strangling her with the elastic back of my sleep mask and releasing her back into the wild to inflict her feet on someone else.

I was surprisingly chirpy for one so sleep-deprived and I made my way through Melbourne’s Tullamarine Airport, keen to protect my precious cargo of Freddo Frogs (a present for my Aunt) from border control and scared I would be detained due to the Aussie government’s fear of dairy products and people associated with farming. Unscathed, I made it out and was struck first by the heat and secondly by the cacophany of parakeets in the trees that rivalled the sound of traffic, they seemed very exotic compared to lethargic London pigeons and strange in such an urban environment. I met my friendly taxi driver who quickly conveyed me along the wide freeway, under one beautiful section covered by rainbow lights and past elegant high-rise buildings to my Aunty, waiting at the apartment she had booked.

I was so pleased to see her and we caught up over a walk round the block to scope out our surroundings, microwaveable dinner bought from Woolworth’s and an episode of the uber-Australian TV show Bondi Beach Rescue. The flat has the most beautiful, if not vertigo-inducing view, with ant-sized cars and buses crawling along the streets below. Looking over the city, I’m excited to see what the next few days hold and even more excited for a shower and some sleep.

Will Shoesan return? Will we find our way around the city? Will I get carried off and eaten by parakeets?

Stay tuned to find out.