NC500 Day 1- Edinburgh and the Cairngorms.

Miles: 368. Wildlife: nil but a city pigeon. Camper Vans: 9. Steps: 8767.

Technically, TECHNICALLY, we are yet to reach the NC500 route, but this trip revolves around it. So buckle up because this is day one!

I’ll start with last night as I left you with the beginning of our journey on yesterday’s blog. (Link below.) We drove from Essex to Thirsk, York. Upon our arrival into this small, charming town we were witnesses to the most glorious sunset. We had booked into a Wetherspoons hotel, something Mr W and I have never done. The joy being that for our first night we had a budget busting dinner of a mixed grill, BBQ chicken melt and a nice cold beer and cider. Can’t go wrong really can you?

On returning to the room via the labyrinthine hallways and exceptionally creaky, sloped floors we couldn’t help but laugh. I looked out of the sash window, gotta love a sash window, at the cobbled town square below and felt the familiar zing of escapism flood my body.

Bed was calling.

This morning we woke up at 4:25am and creaked about our room getting clothes on and our bags ready to leave. With fruit and pastries in the car we didn’t have to fuss over making breakfast and was glad to just get on the road. As we navigated the hallways of the hotel I felt like I was sneaking about and couldn’t stop the giggling in my head. We were in the car by 4:53am, with the thermometer reading 2° and set off for Edinburgh.

We were on the road for at least 90 minutes before any hint of the sunrise appeared. The roads were pitch black and very quiet. The journey was uneventful, although we went through a toll tunnel, the Tyne tunnel, which wasn’t signposted and now have to pay £1.90 before midnight or face a fine so look out for that. Live and learn. We made a few stops along the way so I could try and hobble my back pain away and the morning wind was absolutely bitter. Upon our arrival into Edinburgh we found that our usual, trusty, free parking area was completely full. I quickly managed to find an alternative and am absolutely stunned at the gem I found. Should you ever visit Edinburgh on a weekend head to the Broad Pavement car park. At the time of writing this blog, it is free on weekends and is right next to Holyroodhouse Park. It is perfect for walking to the Royal Mile or, like us, climbing Arthur’s Seat. 

Now, here’s where the day became tricky. My back pain has been bad. And it’s becoming harder to deal with. So Mr W has been wondering if I can even do these big hikes. Now I am a stubborn woman 90% of the time, but when the pain is this bad, I crumble. These past two weeks I have tried everything to ease off this torment and nothing yet has worked. So on arrival at our first stop today we made a promise that if I could not do it, we would leave. I hated the thought of not completing one of our plans but as Mr W put it, if I made it worse by forcing it then the whole trip was in jeopardy. 

With this in mind, we wrapped up against the Scottish wind and started our way up the extinct volcano. I had previously looked online for route advice and found that the blue route was the easiest and would take 1-2 hours. I gave us 3 hours so we could stop and take pictures without feeling the need to rush. 

The route started as a gentle incline wjth a level pathway which soon enough turned into a winding shingle slope. With medium size rocks littered about it wasn’t too strenuous. As the incline grew steeper more rocks and shingle covered the pathway. After a while the path gave birth to huge steps of rock which Mr W had to help me climb. It was only on inspection at the very top of this section that we realised that somehow we had managed to turn away from the blue route and take the much harder, steeper, rockier red route to the summit. Oh yes, we are the kind of people that need signposts every 100 metres or we will just follow the crowds. And most of the crowd we followed were runners who had clearly done this a few times before. I laugh now, internally, but at the time all I kept saying was ‘Jesus’ and ‘What the f**k’ and ‘Who on earth can climb that step, not me, I’m a midget!’. 

With Mr W’s guidance, a hell of a lot of guidance might I add, we reached the top. We did it! I did it! My crappy back let me do it! The very last portion of the ‘walk’ had me in a scramble using my hands to pull my body up the rocky path with fears of slipping down the hill. There wasn’t an absolute pathway up so everyone was eyeing up the best route for them and we all looked like ants making our way into our nest. The view from the top was of pure sunlight and the image of Edinburgh was blurred by the tears in my eyes courtesy of the bitingly frigid wind. But I could have been looking at a gravel pit for all it mattered, we made it to the top and I felt like I was on cloud nine. 250 metres up, up, up. 

We spent a few moments looking out over the city, pointing out Calton Hill and Edinburgh Castle before feeling the need to move on. The whole walk from the car door and back again took us 2 hours and 11 minutes. Pretty good eh?

On our walk down, a man asked us to take a picture of him and his partner, as Mr W clicked away, he told us in broken English, I think he was Scandinavian, that he had just proposed and that she had said yes. How amazing is that? Being a part of someone’s story like that! I became my usual shrill self with excitement and Mr W congratulated them. What a moment!

We made it back to the car with lots of time spare and wolfed down a lunch of tinned spaghetti and something sweet. The next visit was up in the air due to the Queen’s passing last week. We were due to park on the Balmoral Estate and do a short walk up to Prince Albert’s Cairn. With the car park potentially too busy with well-wishers it was a case of driving by and seeing what was happening. I can happily say we managed to get a space really easily and even though the walk to the Cairn was closed, along with the rest of the estate, we spent some time paying our respects at the gates and looking over the flowers. I am really glad we got the opportunity to stop, being away from London and home for the funeral feels very strange and this went a long way for me to feel like we did something in our own way. The swaths of roses, lilies and sunflowers against the stone walls glittered with raindrops and looked like an ornate carpet. Such a simple way to show care and love and yet transcendent in its admiration and attention. 

Making a promise that we would return one day to complete our walk, we wandered back to the car commenting on how we would be arriving earlier than planned at our hotel. Winner!

And then… our sat nav started playing silly buggers. We found one of the roads on our route through the Cairngorms National Park had been closed and requested a re-route. This was done and admiring the beauty of the Cairngorms passed the time easily enough. That is until we realised we had been down this particular road before and not too long after we found ourselves back at the Balmoral car park. No matter what we did to the demon robot it could not find its way around the closed road and without a signal on my phone, we felt at a complete loss. 

After driving for maybe 5 minutes, I was able to negotiate with my phone and picked up a route that worked. The hour journey took double that and Mr W and I could not help but dump our bags with glee once reaching our hotel room. 

Tomorrow we will laugh, forgive the sat nav and move on. But tonight, we are nursing our shattered bodies, tired brains and thanking the local ‘The Wee Puffin’ restaurant for the most delicious takeaway food… that we ate wearing our pants… in silence.

Highlight one of the NC500 – A royal goodbye
NC500 Day 1 – Itinerary
Tears of travel anxiety

Tears of travel anxiety

Well, it is here. The day I’ve been rattling on about ALL year long. Mr W and I are embarking on a fifteen day tour of Scotland. It is the longest trip we’ll have ever taken together and the most intricately planned one too.

We will be staying in 14 hotels, travelling over 1800 miles, drinking copious amounts of tea that have been made using our car kettle, going wild swimming for the first time and we are taking you with us!

Yes, to add to the 12-14 hour days, the miles upon miles of hiking and the basic meals of oats and pot noodles, I will be writing every single evening. I’ve often wondered if this will put too much strain on the trip and whether I should wait until after. But truthfully, this is the chance to get every emotion and opinion down as it is on the day without inference of the delay of time.

If you’ve been following this blog so far you’ll know I’m either bordering on OCD or already a fully fledged member of the OCD Club of Organisation Addiction Awareness. So you may not be surprised that every blog going forward already has a template from which I will be able to work from. I also have a notepad that’ll be with me in the car and a printed itinerary I can edit along the way. I really want to learn as I go along on this trip, which means if something I have researched (albeit meticulously) does not work out, I want to find the answers and tell you everything. You may have gleaned by now that I’m passionate about travel beyond measure and if I can inspire (ick word) you to take the trip you’ve been putting on the back burner well that’s just a beautiful thing.

So today, we are driving up to Thirsk in order to break up the mammoth drive to Edinburgh from Essex, our very first and brief stop on Saturday morning. We’ve stayed in Thirsk a number of times now and it works perfectly for us as it’s small enough to not have any traffic and it has a big Tesco and petrol station. It has made the perfect overnight pitstop previously and there’s nothing better on your first night than familiarity. It also helps that our hotel has a restaurant, a budget one, so we don’t need to dig into our food reserves and can be at full energy for the longest start of the trip.

We have an exceedingly early morning tomorrow because we still have a 3 hour drive before our first stop, so we will be up before the sun and on our merry way.

As ever, my nerves about leaving home have started hitting me. This has been happening in its worst form for about three years now. It is hard to pinpoint the exact time it happened but I think it has a lot to do with the time we had to leave our home without a housesitter in 2019. Although we had various people coming in and out at least three times a day, I was incredibly worried about our dog and cats and don’t think I’ve ever really recovered from the guilt. Since then we have secured a housesitter every single time we have left for longer than two days. My dad will always say it’s not an issue but really his doing this enables us to really go out and live.

I literally can’t sit still the days leading up to when we travel and I dare say a lot of that is down to nerves. I love to come home to a clean and tidy home and before we leave I’ll often remember tiny little jobs I’ve been putting off , for instance I’ve been pottering in the garden getting it ready for autumn and reshuffling photos in the hallways.

This week that has been made a darn sight harder due to the flare up of my back condition. Oh yes, we have a 30 page itinerary for a 15 days trip and now is the time my back doesn’t want to play ball. I’ve tried movement, stretching, walking, sleeping, sitting and resting and so far sod all is working. It’s been over two weeks and I am slowly but very steadily getting pissed off. I am determined to keep to the plan for the trip as this has been so long in the planning and even longer in the dreaming.

Putting the final touches to everything this week has definitely kept my mind busy but I know I’ll be a blubbering mess as we leave in a short while. It’s ridiculous really for someone who lives and breathes to travel how much it makes me nervous. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. It catches me off guard and I feel my breath catch in my chest. It’s like a wave of worry washing over me. An anxiety avalanche if you will.

Mr W asks if we should cancel and I know that I can’t stay here forever, holding down the fort, protecting what I can’t while I’m away. Therefore it is off to the horizon we go, me and him, finding the next adventure and praying my anxieties get lost along the way. Maybe I’ll tie them to the rear bumper and give them a good chance of joining us, if they can hold on that is.

Right, here we go. Scotland 2022. Let’s see what you’re all about.

Miles: 232

Running from the rain

This is going to be a relatively short post. 

I am so very busy putting together the last bits for our Scotland trip and yet I found myself reminiscing about a trip from a long while ago. 

In 2008, my mum took my brothers and I to the Dominican Republic. She has been before herself and always wanted us to go. It was, until that point, the furthest we had ever been from home. The weather was sticky and hot. The beaches were stunning. The pool was cool. 

And boy did it rain. Every other day the heavens opened, the floodgates opened and it rained cats and dogs. It wasn’t itty bitty rain, it was big stair-rod rain that forced its way through clouds and air to the ground. The lush greenery was evidence of its great power on the island. 

Whenever it rained, sun loungers would be thrown aside as people grabbed belongings and ran for shelter. Bodies would burst from the pool and into the dry doorways of hotel rooms. 

And it wasn’t until I started planning for Scotland that I saw how funny this practice was. 

People would get out of the pool because the rain would make them wet. 

Hysterical. 

Whilst planning Scotland, I have had to think about every eventuality when it comes to food, weather and clothing. We have hotels booked every night but to keep costs down we are taking about 90% of our food for the fortnight and have needed to be quite inventive in our approach to every travel aspect. Something we will be doing for the first time is wild swimming. We have invested in wetsuits and as a bigger girl this is something that I would usually avoid. Wetsuits are unforgiving when it comes to lumps and bumps. And yet I had a fuck it moment. 

The other day I was looking up the details of Loch Maree and made a mental note to pack a woolly hat to wear with the wetsuit so no heat escapes through my bonce. Good eh? I then made a small prayer that it wouldn’t rain while we were swimming… 

See where I’m going with this?

Heaven forbid it rains while we are in a body of water. 

And there you have it. We have come full circle from the Dominican Republic to the Scottish Highlands. Lovely.  I really think situations can be determined by your approach. Why run from the rain? Clothes dry, puddles evaporate, may as well make the most of it!

Linen

This year Mr W and I celebrate four years of marriage. 

We’ve become pretty traditional in our approach to our celebrations. At Christmas we have quite a few traditions that we have created and observe every year. It feels like a real familial bond for him and I. Our own mini special touches. I was thinking about our impending anniversary last night and realised that we have nurtured a tradition without really thinking about it. 

On our first anniversary, ‘Paper’, we booked a night’s stay in London and spent a rainy day sampling a beautiful afternoon tea by Marco Pierre White, wandering the Kyoto garden in Holland Park, walking to the top of the dome in St Paul’s Cathedral and watching the NFL in the pub to be found in the arches of Tower Gateway’s station. We visited rooftop gardens, had breakfast with a view of Tower Bridge at the Coppa Club and a fantastic dinner at Bodean’s BBQ in Tower Hill. Everything we did (other than watching the NFL) was brand new that day and it was excellent. We didn’t exchange gifts and reasoned that the money we had paid out for the hotel room would be our gift to each other and that the ‘paper’ reservation I had printed off would symbolise the anniversary tradition.

We found ourselves unexpectedly in Florence, Italy on our second anniversary, Italy after rebooking a cancelled trip due to the pandemic. Year two is ‘Cotton’, I bought Mr W two t-shirts from Florence and Venice’s Hard Rock Cafe’s. It was a combination of booking the restaurants to fulfil another little tradition of going to any new ‘Rock’ when we are near one and buying him a cotton gift. In return he gave me a braided cotton bracelet. I remember opening it and wondering ‘what on earth?’. And laughing at his face. He explained that it had taken him hours and my heart swelled. I wore it for a month until it broke and I still keep it in my nightstand. I tell the story now and laugh at the comparison of gifts but underneath I am massively grateful for the thought and time that went into it. It is honestly so sweet. 

Fast forward to our third anniversary and we spent a long weekend in Northumberland national park. Having loved it so much just four weeks before we rapidly booked a return trip and spent our anniversary hiking huge waterfalls and enjoying a beautiful Italian meal. We upped our game with the gifts and after joking what ‘Leather’ gifts I could have gotten him, he opened a personalised leather camera bag and he spoiled me with a leather purse. It was another beautiful day doing something completely new. 

This year, we’ll be in Scotland for our fourth anniversary. We have both said that ‘Linen’ is near impossible to get right. I was tempted to buy him a linen suit and ask him for some beautiful bed sheets but something inside me just cracked. We haven’t bought needless gifts just to fulfil the anniversary tradition. So far, we’ve had amazing anniversaries that have been so much more than the gifts given and I have no doubts this year will be the same. 

It seems that our anniversary tradition is to be away and exploring somewhere new. I do know we have been exceptionally blessed to do so four years in a row and should we be away next year too we’ll again be exceptionally lucky. What I have started to enjoy is how inventive the gifts have become and how if it isn’t feasible we aren’t too hard on ourselves. I am proud that we aren’t filling up our house with needless stuff. I don’t want to spend money on ‘stuff’ that sits on a shelf. We’ve taken a dramatic turn in recent years in our approach to spending money. Before the pandemic a mini shopping spree was the call of the day if we had had a bad week. This was ramped up, by me, during the pandemic when all I could do to cure boredom was look at interior design as a hobby and amazon was my best friend. 

However since our budget busting trip to Italy in late 2020, I find that we have come to appreciate experiences over belongings so much more. Having been locked away from the world during the pandemic made us appreciate our freedom and we have since spent more time than ever exploring the UK and planning big budget-stretching trips. We have found it to be a breath of fresh air when making the most of every penny too. 

It’s more ecologically and financially friendly to stitch-fix a pair of jeans than throw them away. 

It makes for perfect photos to get up before the birds to be ahead of the crowds in Central London and nab a free parking spot. 

We save our supermarket points so we can book a free hotel for a weekend away. 

There is something very satisfying about making memories while stretching the pennies. So last night, as I sat contemplating our next anniversary I realised that our tradition is ever changing and evolving. Travel or gifts, who knows? The one constant is us. And that’s all that will ever matter.  

Next year, our fifth anniversary is ‘Wood’…

Travel is a universal language

Sticky notes lay out in various colours across my bedroom floor. My friend and I had some planning to do. Our first trip abroad was looming and we wanted to make the most of it. We were 17 going on 18 and New York was calling. My friend had wholeheartedly been on board with going on the trip however when I asked what she wanted to do she had no idea. The pressure was on to make sure she had the best time. In my mind I had wandered those streets thousands of times. Now I was preparing to make those walks a reality. 

As we sat there on that wooden floor, we used the post it notes to piece together a plan for our 5 days in Manhattan. We put them into columns based on which days they would work best on and used a map to pinpoint which stops were close to one another. This was way before I was confident using the internet and so the process took us a few hours. And yet it was exciting. 

The trip in the Spring of 2004 was amazing. Perfect even. And therein started the development of my skills towards itinerary creation. Since then I have created itineraries for family, clients and Mr W and myself. It is an absolute joy. There is something so soothing to create something particular and bespoke. A blank piece of paper transforms into a carefully crafted and researched travel bible.

I’ve never really had much confidence in my ability. It is a mixture of self esteem issues and a bad experience working in the travel industry. Recently I have felt particularly crap about it all due to my client list becoming practically nil due to the pandemic. 

Last week, I had the best time talking to a new friend on zoom. She lives in America and we met on a facebook group in March 2020. The group was a place to talk about Italy and at the time was being flooded with questions about Covid and how the country was doing. It became very clear very quickly in which way the new virus was going and it became a space to share fears and tips on how to salvage our bookings.

Over two years later Carrie and I have shared pleasantries online. We have a similar travel history and I was able to share our trip to Italy in September 2020 with her as she is yet to rebook her own. Just a month or so ago she told me the very exciting news that she would be coming to England for the first time. She asked if I would look at her list of plans and let her know if I could recommend anything she had missed. 

I said it might be worthwhile talking ‘in person’ and after a few hiccups we finally ‘met’ last week. I’m always nervous meeting a new person but having been laid up with a bad back all day and only remembering that I was due online at the last minute I felt exceptionally unprepared. As someone who is trying to remember that the least interesting thing about myself and others is the way we look, I annoying found myself finger-brushing my hair and thanking my low-light lamp.

No worry was ever needed less. Carrie was so friendly and intrigued by my accent that we spent a good 20 minute talking about all sorts of things. Afterwards, we got down to the nitty gritty and talked incessantly about London. Although Mr W and I spend a lot of our free weekends in our capital city I do find that we avoid tourist traps and feel that our days there would not be too impressive to an out of towner. It soon became clear that the index in my mind was so much bigger than I originally thought and I found myself smiling as Carrie took copious notes. It was as if a light had blinked into life in my brain and I sat for over an hour unloading everything I knew. We agreed to meet up when she comes over and I sat in quiet contentment at my ability to spurt out knowledge so quickly. There was another half hour or so of chatter about Paris, Italy and how we generally approach travel and I felt the prickles of twinship with another soul.

With promises to share our Scotland trip with her and glance over her London itinerary upon my return I signed off for the night. I sat for a while smiling. A new friendship across the Atlantic ocean was forming and based on something so very special to me. 

It was a great pleasure to be reminded of just how much travel is embedded in my very being. I’ve been quietly simmering with pride ever since. It also reminded me of how friends can come from anywhere at any time in our lives. I am revelling in a new experience however small it may seem from the outside looking in. 

Note to self, this is just another reason to take a chance when you maybe aren’t feeling your most confident.

September 11

Woodwork technology on a Tuesday afternoon was always a favourite lesson of mine. The smell of the fresh sawdust, the mayhem of various machines whirring to life and the planning of projects was just a lot of fun. It didn’t feel like school. The radio was always on which made the lesson even better. I remember a news bulletin about a plane crash in America. In my mind’s eye I saw a two seater plane hitting a ramshackle old building with a corrugated iron roof and carried on with my day. I was 13 years old.

Over the next few days the world stood still while the news stations around the world pumped out image after dreadful image. The four planes were commercial aircrafts and had been hijacked. Three of the four planes hit their intended targets. The Pentagon in Virginia and the Twin Towers of the World Trade Centre in New York. 

184 people died in the Pentagon attack

40 people died when they regained control of the fourth plane and crash in a field in Pennsylvania

2753 people died in the attacks on New York

I cannot fathom what happened that day. I have watched documentary after documentary. Interviews. News reports. I’ve read countless pieces online and spoken to various friends and family over the years since. And yet it haunts me. Every year since for as long as I can remember I watch the footage of the names being read out in America. The names of the people the world lost. I cannot help but feel an overwhelming flood of grief enter my whole being. And yet I could simply turn away and avoid the heartache. 

But it isn’t that simple…

A short 4.5 years after the attacks, with my new found freedom of turning 18, my friend and I head to New York. It was a week after my birthday and I was not wasting any time. New York had long been on my mind of somewhere I longed to be. I wanted to see Central Park, the Statue of Liberty and Times Square. I wanted to buy a hot dog at one of the carts and casually wander the streets. It all seemed so familiar. The movies I had clung to used this city as its backdrops. The tv shows I loved referenced it so very often. It felt like visiting an old friend. 

In April 2004, we were unleashed on the city and we embarked on our first solo adventure. The days were crisp with their early spring blue skies and we were granted sunny days with one peculiar spell of snow. We took boat rides along the Hudson River, we took cabs down 5th Avenue and our feet took us the rest of the way. 

On our way to a discount department store one day, we found ourselves on Church Street. On one side were tall buildings with glittering panes of glass. On the opposite side were tall chain link fences. It wasn’t until I looked past the fences that I realised where we were. The gigantic hole in the landscape was immeasurable. It was deep. It was grey. It was virtually empty. We had chanced upon Ground Zero. 

Walking aside the fences we saw various drawings on paper clipped to the wire mesh. They were colourful drawings done by young hands of families standing outside their homes. The odd dog and smoking chimney. The faces on the paper were smiling. Beyond these papers the spirits of the souls lost created a hush over the space. The feeling was palpable. The silence clung to us like dust. The hum of the city faded away and all I heard was the gentle sound of the wind manipulating the shape of the drawings. I noticed all too late that tears were streaming their way down my cheeks. They too were silent. 

As we came upon the escalators for the temporary PATH station there were walls created by even more drawings and pictures and they covered the harsh wires of the fencing from top to bottom. Even here, at the gateway to a transportation hub, the quietness was unmistakable. A few metres away a small boy wearing an exceptionally large FDNY uniform sat on the ground. I can still see his face. He had blonde hair and he looked lost. His face had no emotion but his eyes, tracking the movement of a large camera, looked sad and confused. An independent film crew were making a movie of some sort. I could not tell you how long we stood there. Seeing but never understanding the true horror of what that place had been witness to. 

In the years since, where more video clips have been shared the devastation of that day is re-lived. The crash of the planes. The screams of the people. The fall of the buildings. The dust clouds. The crying. The shock. The disbelief. 

It is hard to believe even now, 21 years later. 

One cannot comprehend the pain felt by the families who lost someone. Or what it was like to live through that day. 

I watch the coverage each year and witness each name being read out to show my respect. To put my life into perspective. To remind myself to hold my loved ones a little longer. To love more fiercely. To not waste any opportunity thrown my way. It is my reset day. The day I am reminded of how fragile life on this earth is. How in the blink of an eye life can be snatched away. It forces me to remember the evil in this world and how in the face of adversity New York sent its angels to rescue the fallen. Boats on the harbour took the stricken onboard and home to safety. The dust covered faces highlighted the absolute definition of equality. No race, colour or creed dictated who was first in line for help. Everyone was there for everyone. As it should be. 

That day represents so much more than devastation. It represents a city that pulled together. That love is so much stronger than hate. That love will always win. 

It teaches us every year to be the light in the dark. To be the best we will ever be. 

In December 2015, Mr W and I paid our respects in person. Cascades of water fell into the memorial pools that now sat in the footprints of the fallen towers. The hum of the city faded away once again. Tracing a name  on the bronze parapet with my finger, I looked out over the scene. The silence clung to the space as it had once done eleven years before. The tears tracked down my cheeks without my noticing and fell to the floor. The chain link fences had gone, the spirits that had been here were free to leave and yet on that cold grey day, with a fine rain falling, I felt them. They had stayed here. In their final resting place.

Shiny new toy

The last four days have been a steady stream of information and sadness in the passing of our Queen. Elizabeth II was a constant in our lives who never wavered and our loss is only just beginning. There will be the very reality of her passing to come to terms with in various forms. The changing of the literal, the money, postage stamps and passports example. And then there will be the more tangible times which will hurt our hearts. The Christmas speeches and the very unusual ‘God Save the King’ (I actually typed the ‘Q’ before remembering this has now changed) phrase we now adopt. 

Friday and the days since have seen people crowd into London to line the streets for a glimpse of the new King and his Queen consort. On Friday it felt beautiful to behold him arrive at the palace, his new home, and yet also so very sad to see him attend to the crowd. Smiling and shaking his way along the line of waiting mourners it felt strange to see the happy faces just 24 hours after the Queen’s passing. 

Where was the grief? 

I understand the unusual circumstances, who can say that they have shaken a King’s hand? And to be one of the first? Who wouldn’t want to? Perhaps this will be the only chance for him to hit us with his best shot. This may be the prime time to prove his devotion and loyalty to this country and the commonwealth. His connection with his people will be closer now than ever, when would a better time arise to plant the seed of trust than now? Gain respect in the very beginning when emotions are high. It is a very shrewd move. It is also telling of how quick we are to judge him, the people there, and the ones who watched, based on this one appearance. Why was he smiling? Was it a consoling face? Or a new King stepping into his role? Dare I say, happy to be adored?

Do not get me wrong, I have no anger towards the man, no problems with him whatsoever. I don’t know him, none of us truly will, I judge him purely on what emotions I saw on display at the time. And as we all know too well, a smile can hide a world of hurt. I am sad to think about how much pain he could have been hiding away. I wish he and the rest of the family could have had their time like any of the rest of us have when we lose a loved one. 

It personally felt tacky on the crowds part to smile and cheer whilst her Majesty was 500 miles away and barely cold. I commend Charles III for reaching out to the crowd but it didn’t feel as though someone so treasured had just died, it felt too celebratory. It was sad enough to think he had barely any time to grieve himself before his duties began. And yet there he was kissing strangers and being the happy Charlie for the clapping crowd. 

The crowd that flocked to Buckingham Palace over Thursday afternoon waiting word on her Majesty was silent. They stood with bated breath while updating their news apps and watching the palace. When the flag fell to half mast, quiet tears rolled down anguished cheeks and voices caught in throats. The crowd came to be where her spirit still remained. To the largest icon of her name. Her home. They seemed lost. Wandering and waiting. It felt very organic. 

Friday felt more or less an extension of the same flock. Mourners and lost souls looking for others who felt equally saddened and grief bound. Upon the King’s arrival I fear the excitement quite literally pushed the sorrow aside. Yesterday, after the world watched the crowds meeting a King on Friday, even more people flocked to Central London. Maybe they too could grasp a monarch’s hand! It is a shame to think, and very morbid, that this may have been the reason people made the journey. That the lost souls of Thursday have been replaced by the fame seekers of Saturday. That the tear stained faces have been replaced by smiles and shouts of ‘I shook the King’s hand!’. Kissing the King and plastering your story over the news channels is really quite unsavoury.

I know all of the above is very cynical and it comes from a place of grief. A place where I feel strongly about needing to show respect when someone has passed. Yes, we have a new monarch, in name and position Charles is a replacement, but not in spirit or adoration. That will come in time I am sure but it will be for what he stands for and does in the next couple of decades that dictates how much he is worth to his country. This is a fresh slate in our history. He is not his mother. And therefore our grief should not be replaced by the thrill of a shiny new toy. There is a lot of respect to be given at a time like this. Respect for her. Respect for him and his family. Respect we hold for ourselves to understand, grieve and act appropriately. 

I am sure in the days to come we will all find our path through the sadness and accept the new era ahead. The funeral will see the country come together and grieve like never before. A collective sigh for one very special lady. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Positivi-tea

One cup of positivity

½ cup of reality

3 spoons of sugar

One cup of gratitude

And a pinch of looking around and taking it all in

A cup of positivi-tea. Boil yourself a brew. 

You may have read my piece ‘Mental health: triggers’ (linked below). If you did, you’ll now know about the impact negativity has on my mental health. The problems of being a people pleaser and an emotional cheerleader is draining. In my own being I am inherently a negative person. I look at myself with less than loving eyes and foresee potential problems to safeguard myself against future worries. Silly when tomorrow’s worries become today’s sleepless nights. Ironically I don’t want others to feel bad in their lives and try to be a positive influence on them. I am the epitome of not living by my own advice. Silly girl.

I have started to view the world in a rather ‘off’ way recently as I recognise my own mental health triggers. I have seen maybe what I have not seen before and wondered if my eyes have deceived me. Has my new awakening conjured up the negative people or have they been there all along?

It wasn’t until I was watching the news reports on the passing of our Queen that a particular phrase struck me. The man being interviewed had been asked how he thought the world would react to Her Majesty’s passing. He said the obvious things about sadness and grief and yet went on to say how the world of late had become very angry. Though this is a natural reaction when grieving, he said it in a way that it would be outside of the grief, and just how people are used to reacting today. It got me thinking about how true he was. I started to wonder why the world is so angry. 

Is anger the go to emotion?

Covid. Lockdowns. Money. Bills. Elections. Politicians. 

The unrest of the last 30 months has been so unprecedented that the human race has become the tennis ball being hit backwards and forwards at such a rate that we are all worn and befuddled. I understand the reaction. I even understand the anger. We are the proverbial two year old who is tired and yet doesn’t want to sleep. We want ice cream, a pony ride, a big fluffy blanket, pasta, our favourite movies, a day at the beach and hugs all at once. Now! We need constant reassurance. We are catching up with the events of 2020 while navigating 2022 and wondering where on earth the year 2021 went. We are battling through a kind of PTSD while engaging with more battles foreseen and wondering when the peace will return. I understand entirely. 

What is happening is unbelievable. Incredibly implausible. Far-fetched. Unthinkable. Impossible and preposterous. What has happened is the same. What will happen is enough to make us sink to our knees and beg the world to stop spinning. 

And yet it won’t.

The only thing you can control is how you react. Everything that has happened was hard and everything that will come to pass is hard. At each step we are tested. There has been no rest. Just a hard slog through. And yet you are still here. You are choosing to continue. To not give up. Just waking up in the morning, making a cup of your favourite hot drink and walking out that front door proves you have not given up. I promise you that your reaction is your armour against whatever this life throws at you. If you need to scream. Do it. If you need to shout. Go for it. Stomp that foot. Throw those arms in the air. Bow that head with frustration. But do not give up. 

Anger is the one emotion that controls you. So let it in. Let it do its thing. And then throw it into the wind. Let the wind carry it far away. You are not anger. You are who you choose to be. Don’t let anger rule your heart. It will win. You will lose yourself. You will sink to your knees and not regain your composure. 

How you react to whatever life throws at you is the person you will be moving forward. I feel your pain. We all do. Life is damn hard. Don’t let it change who you are. You deserve so much more. 

One cup of positivity

½ cup of reality – it sucks, but it is all we have.

3 spoons of sugar – there is sweetness locked into the smallest moments, if you only take the time to seek them out. 

One cup of gratitude – put your hand on your chest. Inside is a heart that beats to keep you breathing, walking and talking. Feel the breath in your lungs. The pulse in your wrists. You are alive. 

And a pinch of looking around and taking it all in – go on, do it. 

Drink it all up. Let it warm you and comfort you. You are not alone. 

Mental health: triggers

Our constant. Our Queen.

The Queen has died. 

Our Queen of England. Queen of Britain. Queen of our hearts. 

It is surreal. So surreal in fact that whilst watching the news with the announcement of our King’s name, I called out to Mr W that it would now be ‘God save our Queen’. Nope, a slip of the tongue, a tongue so used to formulating the sentence with the word Queen that it naturally slipped out. 

Of course, now it will be God Save our King. My, how strange that sounds. 

It all started with a text today, had I heard about the Queen? With my phone in hand I quickly checked the news. The Queen had been taken ill. Doctors were concerned. Family were on their way to her bedside. The news was switched on as the I, along with the rest of the world, awaited further announcements. I text Mr W at work. Just passing on the information. 

The announcement said that she was at Balmoral. I found myself thinking ahead. In just a few days, we should be parking at the Balmoral car park to visit Prince Albert’s pyramid. Seeing the explosion taking place in the media in all its forms I started to think attending the area would be a poor choice. If the Queen was okay, the area would still be overrun with news trucks and our hope to find parking would be less than nil. If the worst should happen…

It wasn’t such a worry to have to rearrange a detail of the trip. We both know it’s likely we’ll be heading back to Scotland in the next few years. With so much left off this trip and the prices of foreign travel going haywire, it only makes sense to make domestic travel our priority. 

In truth I felt that should something dramatic happen, we were less important than others who felt the need to pay their respects. Due to my lack of knowledge when it came to the royals and my very recent fondness, it felt wrong for us to make the trip and take someone else’s space. 

As the media interviewed various people around the UK and royal correspondents spoke of what was happening at the royal residences it felt like time was ticking by all the slower. Mr W came home and I limped to the kitchen to hug him. I’ve been out of action this week due to a recurring back problem, the reason for my absence in my writing, and he had brought home dinner and flowers. I cut the flower stems and placed them in a vase. Sunflowers. Something happy. 

Walking from the kitchen to the living room, I glanced at the TV. A flagpole was shown. The flag was at half mast. My brain connected the dots as I looked down at my phone and the royal announcement made its way onto social media. Our Queen had died. 

The announcement:

‘The Queen died peacefully at Balmoral this afternoon.

The King and The Queen Consort will remain at Balmoral this evening and will return to London tomorrow.’

Now we know what has happened it feels even more prudent to do what is right. I think it will be the case that we are away for Her Majesty’s funeral and as a mark of respect I want to arrange our time to sit with others and say our goodbyes. Being so far away from home at a time of national, and dare I say global, grief will be very strange indeed. 

My friend in America messaged and asked how we were. It is so peculiar to think about it all. Nothing in our lives has changed. Nothing to do with our daily actions or way of life. And yet, the constant we’ve all, mostly, known is gone. 

It all seems very formal now. There is a 10 day plan. Where she will be placed. Who will be able to see her. Every minute thing is planned. And yet all I can think about is when her family will be with her. When they will grieve. It is all so very public. When someone in the public eye dies, it is often asked from the family to be given the chance to grieve without intrusion. This is just the opposite. As if she belonged to all of us. In a way she did. She was the emblem of this country. But what of her family? How very strange it is as an outsider looking in. Is it just business now? A ship-shape list of what’s next and what to-do’s. 

I pray that everyone remembers her Jubilee and how we came together to celebrate her. And only her. How proud she made us. How the smile clung to her lips as she watched us clap for her and tilting her head to the sky watched as the planes flew for her. I hope that lasting image remains in everyone’s hearts. Surrounded by her family and us all. She made this country.

The outpouring of grief I’ve seen is heartbreaking. A continuous stream of tears and love, devastation and disbelief. She has been the grandmother of a nation. A jewel in our crown. The steady beating heart of a wavering, scared country. The voice of reason and decency.  

There will never be another like her. The adoration for her is too strong for that to happen. 

She gave her life to us. 

Our constant. 

Our Queen. 

No one to send to school

It is the first Monday in September. 

On social media there are photos of children in their clean and ironed school uniforms. They are standing still for the first photo of the new school year. There are remarks about how time has flown and how much has changed in one year. 

I’ve never noticed it before but today was unreal. Photo after photo. And then there’s me excited to be travelling again soon. It made me feel like travel is our baby. That with others around me chatter revolves around children and babies and with us it is what country or city is next. Is travel a distraction? Is that all it has ever been?

That may sound dramatic but when you start feeling like something is missing in your life you ultimately look back at choices to see if things could have been different. The truth is that no, travel, although an escape in my late teens/early twenties, is one of the greatest joys in my life today. It makes me strong, confident and the best version of myself. I am grateful to be able to still go out into the world as much as we do now and to have Mr W with me. 

Today I started feeling really guilty about the time I have spent travelling instead of finding a way to deal with my fertility issues. Hey guess what, if you had a baby six years ago, you’d be sending a child off to school today. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. But again, you question everything in your life when you are feeling particularly sad. What could I have done differently? Nothing. 

And that’s the truth. 

I hope when the day comes that I’ll show my child the picture of me in my uniform and tell them about my school days. I hope to take the picture of them on the doorstep as they take the leap into their scholastic life. One day I hope to share that photo with the people around me who have waited just as long as me to see it. 

For now I have no one to send to school. So I take the joy in the things I do have instead of those I don’t. I want to be mentally healthy for the baby I will one day hold in my arms.