Let me begin by saying that I never wanted to come to New Zealand. In fact, I was dead against it. An ex girlfriend of my brother almost took him to live in Pukekohe six years ago. I vividly remember her describing her home country – lots of sheep and you could walk for miles without seeing a single soul. Back then I was in full force London mode and the thought of not being squidged up against a random gentleman’s armpit during rush hour on the tube filled me with dread. Fast forward six years and not only did I leave London in 2014 to live in Melbourne for fourteen long months, but I had landed on New Zealand shores with only a backpack and a wheelie case full of belongings to see me through the next six months of travelling back to London. Having endured a stressful beginning to the trip with a mistaken detour to Wellington, flight delays, two overnight flights with no sleep and a four hour wait until check in …