The Plan. A plan. Some plans. I plan, he/she plans, they plan, we plan.

So here's the current schedule:

Feb 6: I take an overpriced train to London, meet up with my brother, have him cook me a roast dinner. Hang out with his flatmates, drink sensible quantities of cheap wine. Reminisce about my days in student halls.

Feb 7: Up at dawn, surrender electronic devices to brother, arrange to meet him later in day. Head over to Grosvenor Square. Stand around whistling to myself, pissing off those around me. Surrender man-bag containing paperwork to be x-rayed, walk through a metal detector, take bag back. Receive deli-style numbered ticket. Wait for number to be called. Surrender paperwork again, give fingerprints and retinal scan, return to waiting area. Read book. Finish book, curse self for not bringing another. Get called up to window. Answer questions about myself, my fiancée, wedding plans, potential working plans, criminal convictions (none), outstanding arrest warrants (none), past immigratorial issues (none), general physical and mental health (fine; questionable, respectively), colour preferences, mother's maiden name, airspeed velocities of both African and European swallows. Trade sartorial tips with US immigration representative. All being well, surrender passport, leave embassy, drink. Just make it in time for last train to Loughborough.

Feb 8: hand in notice at work, nurse hangover. The former will help tremendously with the latter.

Feb 8 - week commencing Feb 22: buy plane tickets, sell unnecessary shit (hey, you wan' books? I sell you books. Good price, good price! I sell you CDs, guitars! Good prices! My eBay), inform student loan company that I am leaving and do not know when I will be able to begin repayments ("do you bite your thumb at me, sir?"), contact work pensions provider and demand contributions back (future security? Bless you, sir, no. Not for me!), end mobile phone contract ("I do bite my thumb sir, but I do not bite my thumb at YOU. Sir."), close down unnecessary bank and credit card accounts ("do you quarrel, sir?"), pack.

Sometime around 25 Feb: Hit the road, hit the air, hit the land. Show off fancy new K-1 visa to US Immigraton officials, assure them that the catering-size boxes of Scampi Fries and other assorted snacks are, indeed, for my own consumption and not for resale, hit the air again, hit the land, disembark, walk into the sunset of a brand new future...