Waterloo Sunset, 15th September

As I left my family on the other side of the gates at Waterloo International Station my heart was in my mouth and tears were in my eyes. I was determined not to let them slip out and over my cheeks. It was going to be a long journey and crying was not the best way to start it.

I boarded the Eurostar train for Paris and settled into a seat having stored my large bright and borrowed backpack in a rack nearby. It was stuffed to bursting and had been packed and repacked so many times I was no longer sure what was actually in it. The essential things I had on my person – passport and a terrifying wad of traveller’s cheques that represented much of my worldly wealth.

As the train pulled out of Waterloo station I could see the ordinary trains and platforms running parallel to us. It was a surreal moment as the low autumn sun lit up the steel orange and I realised that I had now technically left the country, my home country. Despite what I could see from the window, I could no longer touch these familiar things and perhaps these would be my last glimpses of them for some time.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and concentrated on the music in my ears.