That niggling feeling

You know the one I mean. When you're pretending that something is what it isn't. Like your conscience when you call in sick, or your gut when you know someone is lying to you. That little voice in your head that goes, "hmmmm", a bit like a disapproving mother. That foreboding feeling when all is not well.

Well that niggling feeling has been, well, niggling, for a few weeks now. It happened again at dinner tonight. My amazing birthday dinner with my nearest and dearest, closest, loves-of-my-life friends. And then the niggling feeling. Will I make any friends in London? And more importantly, will they be as good as the ones I have now? And then that gut instinct. Yes, you will make friends and no, they won't be as amazing as the ones you have now.

And here come the questions. Whose going to look after me when I'm sick? Will I need to start cooking for myself again? What if I have to, gasp, have an injection while I'm away and there's nobody there to hold my hand? What if i get hit by a car and get ammnesia? (Jane Doe is such a tacky name). What if somebody kidnaps me and nobody ever notices?

Okay, so maybe the niggling feelings are what we call irrational feelings. Irrational, yet highly practical questions. I mean, I haven't cooked in six months, chances are I will reingnite the fire that blazed through London in the dark ages and wiped out ninety five percent of the city. As a matter of fact I think I clearly remember my Lonely Planet guide stating categorically that that fire was in fact started by a young lady on her first venture into the Rest of the World. Crap. What have I got myself into?