3 months of arsing about the tip and tail of this blessed isle of ours. 2200 miles of happy memories, wonderful people and new friends and a greater understanding of myself.

I love it. The freedom is terrifying yet blissful. I remember getting off the bus in Glencoe, wandering about for a bit not knowing what to do - 450 miles away from home, alone and with so much country and people around. So I nearly shit myself and caught a lift up to Ben Nevis as it just felt right.

Stand out memories - the inversion on Bla Bheinn, that night in the Sligachan Inn on the Isle of Skye, the 1920's party in a field at Wookey Hole near Glastonbury, meeting one of my now best friends in Cornwall, climbing my first Munro and being offered whiskey and cake by everybody I met on the summit...

It isn't all some kind of 'beat' ideal, half of the time was miserable and depressing but alas that's inevitable when you're travelling alone with no plans. But for every miserable day there was at least one where I was meeting amazing people, sharing the craic and creating new happy memories.

Sadly now I'm about to move into my new house in Manchester and commit myself to another 8 months of studying at uni. I'm terrified of it, frightened my restlessness will get the better of me as it did do last year and lead to accidental self-destruction again. Yet all I can do is to give it my best shot and if it fails, take a year out and go wandering. That's the plan, and oh I'm so excited...