Ready to come home

As we get older time passes so quickly.  As we get ready to leave on our walk of the South Downs Way I can already imagine us returning, tired and with the usual deflated post-holiday feeling.  

So we prepare a lovely homecoming for ourselves. 
We tidy up, change the beds, scrub the bathrooms, hoover the carpets and book a supermarket delivery.
When we get back to our cosy home it'll be easier to leave the post-holiday blues on the doorstep.

Queen's Head or Drunken Duck?

Back in the days when we had three tiny children under five, we stayed in the Lake District at Hawkshead, with a bunch of university friends.

A plan grew to go for a last-day lunch at the excellent Drunken Duck, nearby.

However, on seeing the prices, Nigel and I baled out. It would be too difficult to keep all three children in a good mood while we ate, and it was too much money to chance.

While our friends settled to their gourmet meal, we went to the lovely Queen’s Head in Hawkshead.

We ordered a pleasant lunch, including a salmon sandwich for Pascoe. He tucked in enthusiastically. We were sad to miss the farewell lunch with our friends. Might we have managed after all?

Then Pascoe began to scream. What was it? Had there been something in the salmon sandwich.

The answer was Yes – Pascoe’s hand. He had shoved the delicious sandwich into his mouth so vigorously that he had crunched down hard on his own fingers. If that isn’t an advert for the scrumminess of Queen’s Head’s food, what is? They were also very nice about the piercing screaming.

Years later, staying with Pascoe once more in Hawkshead on our mother-son trip, we returned to the excellent Queen’s Head and were not disappointed. But we were both haunted by our unfinished business at the Drunken Duck.

So we went.

The food was exquisite and the venue delightful, but best of all, when the substantial bill arrived, my kind son split it with me.

And not a single scream.

Girl back

Carenza has been thinking outside the box. 

Her workplace is fully remote. There is no office. 

So if one can work from a flat or a cafe, why not a train or an air BnB?

Carenza was hoping to meet up with university friends in Tbilisi, but was trying to limit her air travel.

So she would work from home while travelling all across Europe.

Her five week solo trip would take her along many railroads less traveled. Not to mention bus trips on winding roads through snowy mountains.

As when she went travelling alone to south east Asia, she gave us a copy of her itinerary. As before, we had no idea what we could do to help if anything went wrong.

Off she went.

To curb my fretting, Carenza rang regularly - 'All is well'. 

However, she forgot I follow her on Instagram and posted an account of hitches and horrors, both major and minor.

My hair stood on end. 

Even when she reached Tbilisi, their mountain walking was blocked by an avalanche. When she returned to the UK she travelled via Armenia, landing her only eight miles from the Iran border on the day when Israel launched an attack on Iran.

However, now she is back, returning on the day she promised, with all her fingers and toes still attached. And I am glad.

'Would you do it again,' I asked. 

Not even the tiniest pause.

'Oh yes,' she said.