What
type of image do you get when I say 17 days, one car, four people who
haven't spent more than 24hrs together since Christmas, 7 pieces of
luggage, three spare legs, and a bike in the UK? Something resembling
WW11 perhaps? Or did you go the optimistic kumbaya sing-along scenario?
The truth is probably a mixture of both. Recent times have seen mum up
in Sydney working furiously on delivering the national electronic
healthy system to Australia plus doing a doctorate on the side through
the University of Liverpool. My brother goes to Monash Uni during the
days, works most nights and is a foodie socialite in his spare time.
John, affectionately dubbed JB, works long hours as an instrumental
engineer, keeps the house running while mum commutes to
Sydney Monday-Friday, and dreams of retirement. Me? I haven't seen
Australian soil since May and am missing Vegemite terribly (imagine my
excitement when I discovered mum had bough over a little pot and then
discovering more at a supermarket in Oxford - score!). As such, some
good family bonding was long overdue and promised to hold some memorable
moments, even if these moments were heated arguments relating to
navigational expertise.
The family reunion
occurred at Heathrow airport. Everyone was looking a little worse for
wear. Mum had been working 20hour days for the past two weeks, Duncan
had just finished exams, JB had not slept a wink on the 36hr journey,
and I had had about 5hrs sleep during the past 48hrs given a *small*
hiccup in Barcelona that resulted in spending the night on some rather
comfy airport floor and the shelling out of €487.... Lets save that
story for another time - still a bit of a sore spot!
You
know when you get to the point and the only person in the world that
you want to see is your mum? You just want to melt into her arms and
feel safe from the world. Walking out of customs at Heathrow (hats off
to the boys, had a brilliant run through) and spotting my mum in the
crowd then dissolving into the mum hug was heaven. Just what the doctor
ordered after the Barcelona debacle. Then the bro came to the rescue
with carting the bike box around on the tube in London and JB carried my
heavy backpack - I was definitely loving the family life!
Some
people may think that two kids in their twenties on a holiday for three
weeks with their parents may be hell on earth, but, I have found that
as my brother and I grow up, the more informal, relaxed and humorous our
conversations with the parentals have gotten - especially after a few
glasses of red wine or pints of cider. You get to know your parents more
as people, who they are - as opposed to the providers of your daily
needs. The relationship dynamics change, philosophical debates ensue,
stories from hippy childhoods emerge.
Not only
did my brother and I get to know our parents a little better, I got to
catch up with my brother and have some decent one-on-one bro / sis
bonding. We both share a love of coffee and good food, wandering around
markets and taking in the detail of the places we visit. A memorable
brekkie in Nottinghill at Portobello markets saw an amazing apricot,
ginger and walnut scone consumed. Plus being family, meals always means
taste-testers of what each person ordered plus your own - the best way
to dine!
From Stonehenge to the Highlands,
Shakespeare to the West-End, black pudding to haggis, Jane Austin to
Lewis Carol, Loch Ness monsters to walking the hotel dog - we did it
all. I even managed to get JB out for a ride in his home town of
Chester. This event was extremely fortuitous; driving back after
visiting the stately ??? House, we made some unexpected turns down
Cheshire lanes and on the side of on of these lanes was a group of club
cyclists about to start their weekly 10mile time trial. The club was
Weaver Valley Cycling club, the very club that JB had been a founding
member of 50years before. Coincidence or fate?!
After having a
good chat and gander at all the decked-out bikes (some pretty flash
wheels were being used), the decision was made to meet up for a pint
down the road where the family could have dinner and JB's mates could
come and chew the fat. During conversation I naturally popped the
question as to where we could hire a bike for JB to go out on a ride
tomorrow. In the space of about three sentences, it had been decided
that tomorrow afternoon JB would be riding Graham's brand new bike in
Weaver Valley gear with Dennis playing tour guide.
JB and Dennis modelling Weaver Valley Cycling Gear in Chester
The
genuine generosity of these people meant that even though we got a 'tad'
wet, the grin the next day on JB's face could not be wiped off for a
good 48hrs. Here he was, on a bike, riding down the lanes of his
childhood with a friend he hadn't seen in over 30 (maybe 40 - give or
take) years. Like a pig in mud. Awesome and very special stuff. It was
also nice not to have to worry about directions for the day and end up
taking pictures of Pyramids instead of Buckingham house; yes, I can get
very lost - remember the typical lack of direction in this female?!
I
feel truly blessed to have spent three weeks in the UK with my family.
It isn't everyone's cup of tea but for me, family is important. They are
the people who you can turn when the cards fall on the floor, they are
the people who truly know who you are - warts and all. There doesn't
have to be any pretensions, all masks can slip away. I am not pretending
my family is perfect - far from it - but I love each and everyone of
them. So thanks Mum, JB and Schnooks for the wonderful times - Jamaica
next?!
Till next time
Ride safe, ride happy, ride in the moment
Han
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