When you read this, I'll be in Norway, and it will have taken me twice as long to get from my apartment to Stanstead airport than it did to actually fly from London to Oslo, and this will have been exhausting and ridiculous and entirely worth it. The air as I step out the plane will smell cold, and cleaner, and my long-suffering, beautiful friend will catch my eye; from that point on I will forget that I have legs or arms or anything at all, and we will let the city and the green-soaked landscapes fill our comfortable silences.