On Holidays

The hours before Mondays blood tests are generally only subject to the lightest of chemical mist, once tablets are effective it rapidly thickens to chemical fog and once a week it darkens further. Monday and Tuesday mornings, early tend to be pleasantly misty. Last Monday it was sufficiently clear to feel quite sad.

Last week we should have been in Keswick with friends staying in a large house and doing what we do. Largely this entails enjoying whatever Keswick Ministries has to offer, although I confess that each year I attend fewer events and absorb significantly less than I once did. It also means trips to The Old Keswickian, fish and chips, Booths, ready meals, beer and wine, the market, cheese and lemon curd, Friars Crag, a walk of intense loveliness, Bassenthwaite and Derwent Water, cycle round them, sundry other lakes and hills, walks. Meeting people, not my forte but I'm good at dispensing liquid refreshment while the people people dispense bonhommie and pearls of wisdom.

This year we couldn't go but last week we should have gone. Texts, messages and a card were reminders of what was and a delight they were, too. Inevitably, as the major casualty in our holiday plans thus far, I fear to dwell on the prospect of a January - February totally spent in Britain, it did elicit a firm reminder of what could have been.

Monday morning was passed in the company of two ex colleagues, one seen more often than the other, who were in a mood to talk holidays in general and Southern Spain in particular, Seville to be specific. We'd never considered Seville but the past week has seen books, Google and atlases pored over. Seville meets most of the criteria needed and the ones it misses may not be significant.

Seville came up in conversation on Thursday prior to hospital embarkation and elicited a rather enthusiastic, well, if you do book it up book it for four. Automatically Seville ascended to the top rung of the aspirational ladder of places to go.

I have (thoroughly) planned a Grand Tour of France, including bits of Spain, Italy and Switzerland but that is more of a distant dream than anything approaching fulfilment. It would be nice but if it never happens it has filled endless hours of traipsing along the back roads of Google Earth as well as pages of PowerPoint. It has served it's purpose.

In hospital on Friday afternoon my faithful traveling companion and organiser arrived with an iPhone filled with news from the north. A place has been booked for all of us for our week in 2018.

We now have a holiday booked for next year.

Lake, hills, landing stage, distant rain.

I struggle to find words to express what a difference it makes just knowing that there are dates on the calendar of a holiday in 2018. Whilst I hope there will be others, Seville sounds a nice place, the emotionl significance of Keswick 2018 cannot be understated. It just lifts whatever it is that needs lifting.

And even if none of it ever becomes a reality, it doesn't matter as it has already made a joyful mark in the chemically murky mind and will inevitably lead to hours of Googlation and contemplation.

No doubt that as the fog rolls in and thickens to impenetrable gloom later, thoughts will dwell on the wonderful grey, damp, clagginess and overwhelming grandeur of The Lakes in summer as well as the warmth, sun and mystery presented by places in Southern Spain we've never been to.

It's not about the places, it's all about the people.
How fortunate we are.