This year, much, much later this year, I have a Big
Birthday. Last time I had a big birthday, nearly ten years ago, surprisingly, I
was still living in London and child free -
looks back through the mists of time to younger, carefree days - and
celebrated with two nights in a posh Bloomsbury hotel*, tea at the Savoy and an
evening in my favourite Stoke Newington tapas bar with loads of friends. It was
fab. Two weeks later we went to Venice.
Deep, deep nostalgic sigh.
Fast forward not-quite-ten-years and I am not just older,
possibly wiser, definitely tireder but also poorer and it’s no longer just the
two of us. We haven’t been abroad in years, our last two holidays under canvas,
not necessarily by choice. But this year we are hoping to get away, to sleep in
beds, between sheets not in sleeping bags on blow up mattresses, have food
cooked for us, not heat up tins on a one ring outdoor stove. Ensuite loos, not treks
across dew filled fields which definitely sounds more romantic and less damp
than it actually is.
Only being contrary I don’t just want sun, sea and
all-you-can-eat, I need more, a childhood spent with my nose buried in a book
has given me many preconceived ideas of what a perfect holiday should be. The
six hours we spend travelling down to Dorset or Devon? My attempt to relieve
those long Noel Streatfeild summers when overworked children spent days running
wild by the sea, returning to their stage schools full of cream and brown as
berries. Must have been a lot warmer in the thirties, and a lot less rain. Cornwall? The Dark is Rising series of course,
I too want to stay in the Captain’s House, walk Rufus the red setter and help
the Light defeat the Dark. Beats organised excursions any day!
Me on my honeymoon, we dressed more formally eleven years ago |
My OH cruelly vetoed my first choice of Prince Edward’s
Island for a honeymoon destination, although he did allow me to choose a
reading from Anne of Avonlea for the wedding itself, so instead I indulged my
Lucy Honeychurch dreams and wandered round Florence for a week. Yes, we did
have a room with a view, a perfect little apartment with a terrace overlooking
the Arno. He may have been expecting highbrow sight-seeingwhen we went to St
Petersburg knowing that my university degree contained a year of Russian lit
and history. But no, instead I dragged him on a tour of significant locations from
The Bronze Horseman.
And so what about my Big Birthday? Italy is always a
temptation, with a classics degree and a love of wine, icecream and pasta it’s
pretty much perfection but I find myself tempted by Austria. Not for the Sound
of Music reasons, or Heidi (actually she may be Swiss), although naturally a
day in Salzburg would be on the itinerary. Nope, a holiday in Austria would
allow me to finally become a Chalet School girl.
Hob nailed boots, a neatly pinned scarf, a pack up with one
vital ingredient missing and a sense of honour and adventure is all I’ll need
to climb alpine slopes, wander alpine meadows, defeat Nazis, save people from
falling glaciers and rescue Belsornian princesses. Then I’ll return to the Chalet
for kaffee und kuchen and a spot of country dancing whilst conversing in at
least three languages. Hopefully I won’t catch the twin disease though, I am
pretty sure that every grown up Chaletian was delivered of at least one pair of
twins, putting a quick end to her career
teaching at her beloved old school.
Of course, what I really want to do most is travel Europe by
rail, first class on the Orient Express. Even my imagination draws the line at
murder though.
*a surprise from my
OH. I had had a very stressful week at work as they were restructuring and had
to reapply for my job with an interview and presentation the day before my
birthday. I returned home to find OH packing for me and was immediately
convinced he was throwing me out and burst into tears. Drama Queen? Me?
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