I've only got two more night's sleep and a few more hours of pesky work standing between me and the opportunity to meet my favourite rugby hunk du jour, the lovely Dan Carter.
So far I've hatched a few plans, realised I run the risk of degenerating into a desperado and have pulled myself back from the brink of transforming into a female version of Alan Partridge.
I spoke with my Dad last night (as we are going to watch the rugby at Twickenham together) and we have formulated a plan of action for the trip. Well, my Dad knows about the plan up until about point number 7:
Hmm. Yes I think that's how it will probably go, but then again you never know.
I'm still hopeful.