As the dawn rolled around someone in the hotel room next door shrieked out to the whole floor "Get up! Get up! We're going to be late!" I was awake. All week I'd had the importance of this day drilled in, up and through my consciousness. The nerves kicked in and my stomach railed against me. I'd travelled here, I'd written on the coach, I'd written in the park, I'd written in the bar and I'd written in my bed. The journey and the pen are inseparable entities for me, inspiration with every mile, clarity and distance. The city was beautiful, everywhere the bright young educated things sprawled out in the sun reading their textbooks building a future in their minds. I had decided to dress myself as Louis XVI Dauphin of France, a pauper prince, black linen and white ruffles, still pale even in the glare of the sun. As i walked towards the university the last two years flashed before my eyes, all the things I'd learnt, the world of fashion and art I'd immersed myself in. I knew this place was right for me, I knew I'd work until I'd found a home within its walls. The journey home filled me with determination to return.
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