25 years ago today I moved to a foreign country for the first time.
I was 20 years old and I was moving from the UK to Nice, France as part of my French and Spanish degree (that's a photo of me in Nice at the time.)
I clearly remember being at Heathrow with two of my uni friends, saying goodbye to my parents, feeling a mix of excitement and fear at what lay ahead of me.
It was the 6th October and we left a cold, rainy London to arrive in a sunny, balmy Nice.
Being driven down the Promenade des Anglais is engraved in my brain as I took in the BLUE sky and the BLUE sea (BLUE because they are just so blue!), and the palm trees that lined the road.
For someone who had spent the last 2 years of studenting in Liverpool it felt like I had somehow arrived in heaven.
I remember exactly what I was wearing that evening as I called my parents from a payphone to tell them we'd arrived safe and sound.
"It's 6 o'clock and I'm wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt!" I announced delightedly to my...