Ohhhh-kaaaayyyyy. Christmas is over. And I’m guessing maybe quite a few people are a little bit over it? I like christmas actually: food, wine, catch-ups and endless baking. All the things I like. But after several weeks of hand-making christmas presents in between working and all the chatting, chatting, chatting… I also very much like the day after christmas.
I have been killing it today. I should make myself a badge. “My sheets are clean and my floor is vacuumed. I am a winner.”
A few years ago I went to Turkey. My dad came with me- not because he wanted to, because my mum didn’t want me going alone- and, as these things go, it turned out to be the place he met somebody very special. So a few years after that first trip, I went to Turkey again. This time for a wedding.
Will and I stayed in a tiny apartment with everyone, a huge tray of baklava…
“We’re going to Bonnydoon! We’re going to Bonnydoon! We’re going to Bonnydoon!” That was our driving song a few weekends ago, sung mostly and extremely enthusiastically by Will.
But we weren’t going to Bonnydoon (where even is Bonnydoon?). We were going to Robe. I had never been to Robe before, although the idea of a visit has always been tantalisingly possible because Will’s grandparents own a beach house on some million-dollar property there. The beach house isn’t million-dollar though, it is charming and small and blue and white. It has a bunk room and it is a literal stone’s throw from the soft white sand and stupidly blue water of Guichen Bay. Being there, I could almost remember the freedom of endless childhood summers spent running amok with a brood of freckly nosed, salty skinned kids.