Could our approaching family holiday be the last with all of
us together? In particular, Pascoe’s PhD
does not offer the long summer vacations of his rosy undergraduate days, so
choosing to spend a holiday with us might mean turning down more interesting
possibilities.
However, this year we have agreed to holiday together and holiday
we shall.
We tend to have the kind of trip that leaves us not only
with a sun-tan, but also some scratches, bruises and stings. We like hiking and swimming and are prepared
to set off with only the cheery verbal directions of locals or, on one occasion, a map so vague
that, when I showed it to my friends later, it made them fall silent in mute
contemplation of our recklessness.
When we first started out, it was Nigel and I carrying the
twins (and everything else) in back-packs and Pascoe marching along on sturdy
little legs. Now the kids carry my bag
for me and coax me to go a little further with biscuits. When wading into the water in a rocky cove,
they hold my hand so I don’t slip on the rocks, and convince me that the water
isn’t as cold as I think it is. If only
I can lose some weight, they’ll probably carry me when I get tired.
Better make the most of it then.
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