Think back to the start of a relationship – the way that you text each other constantly, falling asleep with your phone on your pillow in case it lights up one more time, and the flutter of excitement that accompanies all of this.

Thinking even further back I can recall many an evening sat on my parents’ bed, talking on the phone to friends, or occasionally, and more excitingly, potential boyfriends.  I’d spend these phone calls attached to the wall by a cord (remember those?!), sat in the dark, so it would be easy to detect anyone stood outside the room, whispering furiously during the parts I didn’t want my family to hear, and being constantly paranoid that my brother or even worse my parents had picked up the downstairs phone and were listening in.  As an adult, I am chuckling to myself, but at the time it was exciting and fun.  When a friend phoned it filled my belly with warmth, and acceptance that I craved as I teenager.

When I was 8, my parents bought what could only be described as a pile of stones that in the loose form of a house in the middle of nowhere: France.  As the daughter of 2 teachers, my brother and I would spend school holidays there.  In case you can’t tell, I hated it.  It was quiet, there was nothing to do, there was no one my age about (my brother did NOT count.  URGH!), my parents were constantly busy renovating the house, it felt like all our trips out were to the builders yard, and occasionally as a really special treat we would get to go to a furniture store (WOO).  It was boring, and I resented it so much, so I used to spend a lot of time in my bedroom, writing letter upon letter to my lucky friends who got to spend their Summers in the North West of the UK.  *ahem*  This also meant that I literally waited (sometimes sat next to the postbox, or if I was I was pretending to be really nonchalant, wandering around the front garden inspecting flowers) for the post van to arrive, my heart dropping to my beflip-flopped toes if he drove past, or elated if he actually stopped.  I can’t describe what it meant to get those letters from my friends, and I still have them all in a box upstairs!

Fast forward to March 2016, and apparently, I have developed a tick that makes me refresh my emails.  Often.  Very often.  You see March is the month where all those festivals I applied to will be getting in touch letting me know if I have been successful or not.  My Summer is on hold, waiting to be mapped out according to who wants my funky tie dye stall on what weekend.  I feel like I’m waiting to be asked out.  These companies obviously don’t realise the power they have over my happiness, and the butterflies I have in my tummy when I see one pop in my inbox.  I need to be put out of my misery, but I can’t pretend not to enjoy the anticipation!

So keep your fingers crossed for me, and your positive thoughts coming.  You never know, there might be something other than a Groupon update waiting for me when I finish this blog!

Can I just add that France was really not all that bad.  OK, so I never appreciated it at the time, but as an adult, I want to kick my teenage butt because it’s bloody lovely there!