I should now be making some pithy comment about how disappointment and uncertainty is part of the charm of the summer holidays in dear old Blighty, but the truth is, it's unfamiliar territory. The last time we risked staying put was nineteen years ago, and a quick count-up with Gill last night brought us to the rather startling conclusion that in the 39 years we've been together we only actually have not gone abroad in the summer on seven occasions, and three of those involved the impending birth of our children.
This was not some kind of grand pro-European gesture, more happenstance really. In the early days the budget would only stretch to camping holidays, and if you are in a tent with small kids rainy days are murder, consequently we headed for sunnier climes.
Also, we both ended up working as senior managers in education. Consequently there was only ever a three week gap where we could grab a holiday, squeezed in between the end of one academic year (course review and evaluation/staff development) and the beginning of the next (A level results day/new student induction). That was the pattern of our existence for thirty odd years; it still feels a bit strange for us both to be free of it and mildly transgressive that we can spend thee weeks in the USA in June and to be planning a long tour through France and Spain for most of the coming winter months. How long will it take, I wonder, to stop dividing up the year into terms, and to regard September as the beginning of the new year as much as January?
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| First night stop-over between Welshpool and Montgomery |
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| It might rain...it might not..... |
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| Sitting outside, potentially a high risk strategy..... |
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