Isn’t it strange how you can be planning towards something for so long, and yet still be rushing right up to the last minute?  Those of you who know me will be rolling their eyes at that I’m sure, because I always seem to be running late.  

We were indeed a bit later to the airport than planned, come departure day, but we still had plenty of time in the end.

Because I am traveling by bus from the UK to France, I had to pack according to the bus company’s luggage restrictions.  The size of the carry-on bag allowed on the bus is a lot smaller than that for the airline, so I’ve packed my main suitcase to the absolute limit.  How I am going to lift the blasted thing up stairs or onto luggage holds by myself, I do not know.  I think Clive may be taking some extra items home when it comes time for him to leave the UK.  But what items to give up?  How can a girl survive without her big container of hair conditioner or her chunky platform sandals?

The three legs of our journey went smoothly and we arrived in Heathrow slightly jaded but in one piece.  Clive had purposely let me take the lead when it came to finding our way around the airport terminals so I was very grown up and read all the signs – mostly.  If people weren’t so interesting to look at, I wouldn’t be so easily distracted!  I did lose him once (due to an interesting-looking person distraction) but did the sensible thing and stayed still.  The trouble is we both stayed still, and only a few metres apart but around a corner – for about five minutes.  I think I might get that tracker app thingy.  

How do people sleep for so long on planes, by the way?  I can doze, but I definitely can’t seem to sleep for any great length of time.  The people on either side of us slept for hours and hours.  Clive did notice the man on his side taking a pill before reclining his chair.  But I don’t think my guy did.  He put on his head phones and eye mask, leaned his chair back and stayed in the same position for what seemed the entire night.  He was also very smooth in all things airplane flight procedural.  Me on other hand, I was like an extreme version of Bridget Jones.  I struggled to get my movie screen to work, pulled out the remote control unit but couldn’t seem to wind the cord back in again (until Clive pointed out that it was a self-retractable jobbie), took ten minutes to fold my tray table back up and couldn’t work out how to recline my seat.  I even struggled to open my packet of crackers – both times.  Honestly, it would probably be better if I didn’t try so hard to look like an experienced flyer.  I think from now on I’ll just go with the  “Unco Traveller” persona, right from the start.  No pretense. 

Anyho (I feel I can legitimately say that, now I’m actually on UK soil), arrive at Heathrow we did.  We then caught a train to Boston Manor station where we were met by some dear English friends of ours who took us home to theirs, fed us delicious bacon butties and summer berries, and then delivered us back to the train station, pointing us in the direction of Coventry.

Clive’s parents were both born in Coventry but immigrated to New Zealand sixty years ago.  They have returned several times over the years, but it was ten years ago since the last visit, and that was only Clive’s mother.  They had decided to go back together for one last time and Clive had volunteered to join them for two weeks of their trip.  He would do the driving so they could relax and enjoy seeing the places of their childhood.  As I had been contemplating a return to France this year, it seemed a good idea to travel to the UK with Clive and then join up with his parents who had gone ahead of us to Coventry.  Clive could only spare two weeks away from work, so after that time he would return to New Zealand and I would travel on to France.

So here we are.

The last few days have been nostalgic ones.  We have visited the childhood homes of both Clive’s parents, stood outside the fish and chip shop where his Dad proposed to his Mum, stood inside the church where they were married and where Clive’s grandfather’s funeral took place, driven around the streets of the factories where his parents worked and first met, and paid respects (and possibly regrets) to the place where Clive’s mother attended a convent school as a child.

Over four days we have visited Coventry, Kenilworth, Warwick and the Cotswolds (Bourton on Water, Diddly Squat Farm ((as in Jeremy Clarkson🙂)) and Stratford Upon Avon).  We have driven to Wales – visiting Shrewsbury, Rhyl, Bangor, Snowdonia and Dolgellau, and a few places in between.  We have more to see, but so far it has been a time of mixed emotion for Clive’s parents.  Sadness at how much things have changed, happiness in good memories relived and a wee bit of closure too.  Listening on to their stories, I’m reminded that although times may have been tough and money not plentiful, the best memories seem to have been of time spent together enjoying each other’s company; family outings, the cinema or a dance, an ice cream, a packet of crisps, a ride on a motorbike or a carnival passing by.  There has been loss of loved ones and hurts suffered along the way, but still joy has been found in the simple things of life.  It’s been a good reminder.