We’re lucky this is only a shortish column. I literally cannot keep my eyes open.
I’d like to declare this is due to strenuous adventures, maybe Munro bagging or even walking the Kilt Walk. But it’s not. I have just hit a wall, and apparently it was travelling towards me at 100mph.
My chemo team won’t like to read this and when in on Monday for my regular three weekly check up I’ll be getting grilled.
Resting? Slow down?
Compassionately grilled but grilled none the less. With words like ‘resting’ and ‘slow down’ being bandied about with enthusiasm.
There will be scepticism, disbelief even, over-proclamations regarding how little I have actually achieved.
The mister, two of the kids and I spent the weekend in North Berwick. Again, achieving nothing other than not being here.
We even managed to miss their annual Fringe by the Sea and didn’t venture into the capital to soak up some Edinburgh Fringe atmosphere.
Casually driving down on Friday afternoon, the car loaded with snacks for our inevitable hold up on the A720, Edinburgh bypass with me predicting traffic disaster in a manner similar to my late father, who was convinced a traffic jam followed him everywhere.
My kindle was loaded with 99p ‘bubble-gum reads’ and the kids safely ensconced in the back seat with earbuds and fully charged phones.
Imagine my disbelief at getting straight through – this never happens – and arriving at our B&B only slightly late, again something that never happens.
Instant relaxation
Welcomed into the open arms of our brilliant host, Lorena, with a reception fit for an episode of ‘long lost family’.
The feeling of relaxation was immediate. We felt like we were home. The gang have never met Lorena, however friends and I stayed with her a few years ago (pre-Covid) and were treated like kings.
I appreciate this is her job. I understand she runs a hospitality business. I accept she will be like this with everyone. But she and I have kept in touch since that first visit and I couldn’t think of someone where I’d rather be for an impromptu, needed, moment away.
Only after being to our rooms, did the kids announce a fact so obvious I nearly kicked myself for not realising sooner. Lorena, our host, was the Italian version of their favourite aunt.
An Italian treasure
The aunt they regularly abandon me to go and stay with and refuse to come home from. Their great aunt who spoils them and showers them with unconditional love.
For Lorena to be elevated to such status almost instantly merely secured my thinking. This woman is an absolute treasure. An Italian treasure offering abundant hospitality right here on the beaches of East Lothian.
One quick, classy, spray of deodorant later and we’re off to the pub to meet some folks.
Friends of friends, who after several cheeky vodkas, became party to our most recent afternoon-TV-fuelled notion to buy an entire village.
By the end of the night we’re all in with both the kebab orders AND the online searches for appropriate properties.
We waved them off in the taxi with their share of booze-fuelled snacks while we slowly meandered home. The kids walking a good 50 yards ahead of us lest someone realises who they’re with.
The next morning saw us presented with a breakfast worthy of making himself consider leaving me for this Italian temptress. Did he want beef sausage or lorne? Would he like a potato scone or should she just whip him up a rosti?
Blissful times
As I watched his 20+ year devotion for me slowly ebb away, I thought ‘fair enough’. Even I can’t compete with that. She’s a deserved winner of his affection and I won’t stand in their way.
The kids spent the day with their pals and we pressed ‘play’ on the middle-aged mosey round the town followed by the afternoon nap of dreams.
There were fish suppers eaten on the beach. Cards played. Mr Whippy ice creams bought. We even managed to run into people we know for a lovely chatty, misplaced catch up.
While sitting on a wall outside a shop waiting on me, himself was approached and asked ‘are you MJ’s husband’?
To which he replied ‘why, what has she done?’ Cheek of him.
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