Posted by Tania Kindersley.
When I was young, I moved about like a crazy thing. I was always getting into my car and driving to the West of Ireland or the South of France. I jumped on aeroplanes like they were buses; New York one moment, Venice the next. No one ever had to ask me twice.
Now, I feel like one of those creaking old persons who can rarely be tempted to leave the house. I have become famous for chucking and refusing, not because I do not yearn to see the old friends, but because I find the whole process of travelling amazingly enervating. Sarah rings up and makes jokes about my having to pack at least a month in advance, which is only a very slight exaggeration. I was never marvellous at travelling light (two Globetrotters were my standard minimum, even when riding the length of India on a train), but now I am practically into cabin trunk territory. You never know what the weather will do.
So I am slightly dreading my journey south. It is a good and true and necessary journey; I am not gadding about. All the same, the thought of leaving my dear old ladies makes me a little wistful:
They know I am going away because they have seen me trying on outfits, and they are being extra sweet and affectionate in a very effective attempt to make me feel like a heartless Dickensian villain.
My faithful hydrangea has finally started to flower:
Every year I forget to prune it, and it should have given up the ghost by now, but it forgives my neglect and rewards me with blatant beauty.
The roses and the lavender are in full fig:
And my newest little herb pot is coming along a treat:
The astrantia gives me daily joy:
It's only leaving the house. It's just a little bit of a drive. But sometimes I do wish I had a tardis, which could magically transport me through time and space.
I reckon a creeping aversion to travel and a compulsion to potter, bond with pets and engage in low-key plant care are all natural manifestations of the aging process, which we ignore at our peril. I tried furiously suppressing my inner old lady by driving over 7000 miles recently on two overseas work trips, and now I can't lie down. : - )
ReplyDeleteWhen I was little I used to long for magic shoes (always had a thing for shoes) that would transport me in no time to anyplace. I too hate travelling - my father thinks this is a Freudian thing as he was an airline pilot. I just find the whole experience, be it car, train, plane, utterly tedious. Ah well... always nice when you finally get there! Lou x
ReplyDeleteEveryone hates the hassle of getting there, but once there, it's always wonderful. Most of all, I love my dogs the way you love your dogs. Sometimes I awake during the night & cannot resist telling them how much I adore them. They are simply our best friends for true. I will await your return, Tania. Have a lovely holiday.
ReplyDeletethe traveling getting there thing not true just back from bulgaria so foul and disgusting actual quote from local outlet ""real porn stars work in this shop", i always remembered my taxi stop because there were photos of nice naked ladies for my teenaged daughter to be inspired by, the local supermarket had the sign no guns no cameras i don't think there was one person in the country that didn't look to rip us off, the mossies were the size of elephants which was fabulous because when i was bitten by the little fuckers one glass of wine and three periton meant i could deny for a whole day that i was actually in this shit hole of a country thank god i'm home and never moving further than whitstable ever again
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