For the weekend I skipped off to Dublin, but coming home proved a difficult task.


I arrived at Stansted Airport after 11pm. I basically sprinted to get my luggage and somehow never made it past immigration, which I'm not going to lie, I am still confused about.

I ran to the ticket office of the Stansted Express and bought my £15 ticket. Making it on the second to last train, I was on my way at 11.30 pm.


Forty-five minutes later I was at Liverpool Street station, which is nowhere near where I live. The Tube had stopped running so I knew I had to try my luck on the night buses.


It was 12.30. I went upstairs to the bus station and found myself surrounded by some interesting characters. I met two boys from South Africa who were trying to help me. However, I didn’t exactly get the feeling they knew where I needed to go.


I decided to call my friend. He informed me to get on the 23 bus to Piccadilly Circus and then switch to the N97 or the 14.


On the bus I looked around and realised I was the only girl in sight. The two boys I met were getting off at Trafalgar Square. They tried to convince me to get off the bus with them. They said if I got off with them they would try to help me, or I could take my chances alone at Piccadilly. As good as their intentions may have been, I thought I'd be better taking my chances.


When I got to Piccadilly I discovered there were a plethora of bus stations. I dragged my suitcase across the street and asked some construction workers where to go. They pointed in a very vague direction.


Walking towards what the hazy directions suggested, I found two more bus stops - neither had a bus I needed. Along the way two unlicensed cabbies said something along the lines of: ''hey baby, need a ride, half price with me.'' I said ''no, I'm going to stick with the bus...'' That is if I can find the bus, I thought.


At my new found and wrong bus stop, an Irish man asked me what I was looking for. Apparently everyone could tell I was lost! He told me I shouldn't be wandering around by myself so late at night. It was now 1am. He told me I could stay with him and his friends for the night at Shepherd's Bush and take the Tube in the morning. Though he did seem sincere, I knew going home with a stranger was not a wise course of action.


Retreating back towards my original post, I realised I was living my mother’s worst nightmare. She'd kill me if she knew what I was doing.


I asked another construction worker for directions to the appropriate bus stop. He pointed in a new direction. This time I found the right stop. After waiting 10-15 minutes I finally got on a number 14 bus.


Upon arriving at the South Kensington station, I walked another 15 minutes home. I made it inside my building at 2am.


I related this story to my classmates yesterday and they asked me why I was travelling alone. I shrugged my shoulders and said, ''I don't know.'' I caught my professor giving me an approving look. I guess there are certain things we all have to do alone at some point. I'm happy I didn't chicken out and call a licenced cab because the self satisfaction from having survived the adventure would not have been the same.