Next stop New York.

It's 7.12am and I am sitting on our big deep balcony, surveying our magical Ko Olina ocean view for the last time on this trip anyway. It has been an amazing week in paradise, packed full of swimming, sunning, drinking and socialising madly with our extended wedding crew. I've had a delicious time, made some firm new friends, managed to have a tiny holiday romance (fling?) with a lad named Frank, and spent some truly quality time with my darling Aunty Chrissy, Uncle Ken and my legendary cousins and their awesome partners. I also discovered, along with every other female in our party, a new phenomenon known as the Guy Stanaway Effect (which in the most part seemed to be silly gurglings issuing involuntarily from one's throat when in the company of the aforesaid buffed, tanned and really quite dashing "Guy") and I even sang a Rogers and Hammerstein number at the wedding (! a duet with a charming opera-singing lady called Di and a request from my Uncle Roger. My first US gig? How could I refuse? I must admit though, "Climb Every Mountain" from the Sound Of Music probably wouldn't have been my natural first choice of song.). I have emerged only slightly battered with one nasty-ish graze to my left shin (I had to climb a rock wall on the night of the wedding. After six Champagnes it seemed like the right thing to do.). So it's been a blast. And now I am about to split this sandy, palm treed pocket of pleasantness, and head for the big smoke. Holy shit. Over the last two days, amongst the Mai Thais and Tradewind cocktails, I have definitely been feeling some freaky fears bubbling up. Now is the time when my independence and my personal strength will be tested. Will I be exposed as a weakling? Or will I punch above my weight? I'm happy to say though, today I'm feeling strong. It's all happening baby. New York, I am ready to rock and roll.