I arrive in London much later than I had hoped to, feeling completely frazzled after having made the somewhat ill-thought out decision to drive down from Greater Manchester.
It's the furthest I've ever driven since passing my test last year, and at the time I did make a promise to myself not to be one of those dithery types that women drivers are all too often unfairly accused of being.
I've never shied away from motorways, so had presumed that the 213 mile slog couldn't be all that bad.
Armed with a pack of cigarettes, glucose tablets (which I always keep a pack of in case of emergencies, should I feel the onset of a hypo) and several mix tapes, I had set off feeling a sense of optimism, adventure and even excitement.
Things hadn't exactly gone according to plan before I left though,
