I’m packing, BEGRUDGINGLY.
Spent the early afternoon wondering around Regent’s Park, which was an excellent way to pass my last full day in London.
And now I’m sitting on the corner of my bed, the only space in this room that’s not piled up with clothes and mess and books and luggage. Two more finals, three suitcases, and bam—headed to Heathrow tomorrow night. Okay, granted, I’m coming back in 10 days to head up to Leeds. But my Oyster shall be turned in with my keys and my phone. It won’t be the same.
Bollocks.
