366.

When I first moved here, and I was still in what was basically a state of shock that I'd made this huge move, left my life behind and relocated to a place where absolutely everything was unfamiliar, I remember I counted the days.

I've been here two days.

I've been here seven days.

It's been two weeks.

One month.

Three months.

Then, gradually, I started to feel more settled in LA. I moulded myself into some sort of routine. I explored. I welcomed visitors. I made new friends. I stopped counting.

On May 16th last year, my friend B waved off me, two very overpacked cases and a really ill-judged hat onto a flight bound for LAX. I had no idea whether I was making a huge mistake, whether I could stick it out.

Today is the first anniversary of my time living here. And it wasn't a mistake. Actually I think it might have been the best decision I ever made.

I miss my friends every day. But they're still my friends. I still talk to them as much as ever, I still know what's going on in their lives. My family have been to visit. They're coming again this summer.

And I know this isn't forever. One day, I'll be back in England, picking up the threads of my life there, and everything here in the West coast will start to seem very far away indeed.

So for now, I have lots of plans to make the most of another summer in this amazing city, take advantage of my independence, and explore as much of California as I can.

This occasion might call for cake...