In Notting Hill I sit, where the sun shines through the rain, preparing for my journey back. This time tomorrow I will be wedged into a car between countless bags, my parents and guitar, Dominic, and no doubt a few chickens thrown in for good measure, headed for Kampala. It is hard to imagine how it will feel to be back in the village that stole my heart two years ago.
All I know is that the thought of hundreds of smiling faces waiting for me at the end of the long dusty road is enough to make this already emotional girl weep.
Nothing ever felt so right.