In a few days, I’ll be getting on a plane and heading back to the UK.

I’ve spent weeks thinking about flights, trains, hire cars, packing, neck pillows, compression socks and all the other ridiculous things I’ve apparently decided are necessary to transport myself from one side of the world to the other.

But today I was reminded what I’m actually going back for.

I had a lovely message from one of my oldest, most trusted and very much loved friends. She lives in the States now, and she’s been doing everything she possibly can to get herself back to the UK while I’m there so that somehow, somewhere, we can have some time together.

And it meant a lot.

Because when I look at the people I’m going to see over the next few weeks, there’s quite a bit of history involved.

Some I haven’t seen for seven years.

Some I haven’t seen for more than 22 years.

And some even longer than that.

Life does that, doesn’t it?

People move. Countries change. Families happen. Jobs happen. Years disappear alarmingly quickly. You don’t necessarily stop caring about somebody just because you haven’t sat in the same room together for a couple of decades.

And these are the people who count.

I’m ridiculously excited about seeing them.

The only thing I’m disappointed about is that I can’t get to everybody I’d like to see. Britain might look quite small from New Zealand, but I’m rapidly discovering that trying to fit people scattered around it into nearly four weeks, while actually doing all the other things I’ve gone there to do, requires considerably more logistical ability than I possess.

But perhaps I don’t have to have it all worked out yet.

There are still gaps. Plans can change. Cars and trains exist. And I’m quite good at going off-piste when something seems worth doing.

So, if you’re reading this and thinking, Well, she hasn’t bloody mentioned seeing me…

Please reach out.

Because the answer isn’t necessarily no.

It’s just not on my itinerary yet.