I conquered my fear of navigating round the labyrinth that is London in a little Clio that showed no fear. As a pedestrian of the Big Smoke, there are many things that help you on your way; maps at bus and tube stops, the faithful a-z and even another harried Londoner. As a driver, though, basic necessities such as road signs become obsolete and trying to read your a-z whilst maneuvering through the busy streets is surely a recipe for... well, mashed pedestrians with a side of crumpled steel and Bryony Brains. Tasty! However, a month later and I actually know where some places are in London. Not all places. I do not profess to have the knowledge. Maybe just the kn. But that'll do pig.
Coventry... well, strictly speaking just outside the border of Coventry. Literally. Go to the end of my village and look across the roundabout (past TGI Fridays and The Cocked Hat) and you see the gleaming 9 foot tall signs that mark the gateway to the land of Covos. A mixed up land of many different architectural sights; evidence of a struggle that began with the bombing of World War II and is still ongoing. But that war spirit goes on and the Coventrians will keep on trying. Bless. However, retreat from those hallowed signs and behold the village of Binley Woods. My birthplace and stomping ground until I broke away aged 12 (ish) and discovered the delights of Rugby first, then Stratford, then the world! Well, nearly. But I still return to a beautiful detached house down a quiet dead-end road where the folks reside and provide me with much needed bacon butties, wine, giggles and kicking of my ass. All encased in a sickening imitation of the Waltons where we say I love you all the time and hug as much as possible. There are dark secrets that spread out like tree roots, threatening to pull us under at any given moment... but the normality we sustain and give each other in this house prevails and keeps us smilingly sane. I love you I love you I love you.
A small section of the family escaped from this place and spread the wings northwards in the wilderness that is Birtley... near Durham... or Gateshead... or Newcastle. It's near lots of places. And provides sanctuary for my older brother, his wife (Helen) and their first born Lauren. Though, as I write, second child is quite literally on her way! I say 'her' because that's apparently what the scan said but there's every chance a little boy could pop out who will be stuck in pink for a while due to his unexpected arrival. However, that's an issue for adulthood surely.
Becoming an auntie is a peculiar state. The love I feel for my niece (just the one at the moment) is all-powerful and consuming. I could talk about her all day long... but am stopped violently in my tracks by long-suffering friends. They allow me brief interludes of overwhelming auntie pride but enough is enough. What also comes with this love, though, is what I assume to be - the panic of a parent. I do not presume to know what a mummy or daddy feels but I do know that the though of anything happening to my niece could reduce me to a pitiful, sobbing mess or a tornado of anger, bent on destroying anyone and anything that caused her pain. It's a tiring place to be so I'm really pleased I'm not a parent yet because having these feelings on top of night feeds and post-natal exhaustion... well... exactly.
Scotland beckoned post-Durham. (Though ironically I travelled back to London for about 18 hours before heading up north. Kinda stoopid huh?) My first time in Scotland too! Not necessarily how I'd choose to visit a place for the first time - co-leading a workshop about green issues. Hmmm. But the accommodation, travel and even most of the food was free so swings and roundabouts really. And I found it to be an interesting place; it has the distinctive landscape that I've grown accustomed to through Braveheart, Rob Roy, Breaking the Waves and Mrs Brown... this landscape just wasn't nearby the first place we were staying though. A glorified Travel Lodge near the airport. Beautiful and heartbreaking... was the film that I saw in the multiplex cinema on our doorstep. However, there was a seat in my shower.
Thankfully, we moved from this concrete playground on the second day and as we drove out, out and further out into the countryside, Scotland became a place I could fall in love with. It's just a crush at the moment. Admittedly a crush where I'm thinking about making friends through facebook and sending a casual message to see how they are. Just to check in. And if the response is favourable, I'll move happily into full-blown fancying. I like that stage. No pressure, no expectations really. Just butterflies, goosebumps, stupid conversation and dreamy bus journeys. It doesn't even have to be mutual. In fact, it's less scary if it isn't because then anything is possible. The smile drifts into place without your knowledge. I miss having an object of my affection. Anyway.
And finally New York. If you haven't been, you really should go. But go more than once because the first time's not all that great (true of so many situations). The second time though... amazing. Plus, go when you can stay with people living there - its much more fun that way. The apartment block where I stayed became infamous because a high-class call girl (prostitute) lives there and slept with the Governor of New York who got found out and had to resign. Cue numerous reporters (all with cameras and even lights!) crowding round the entrance to the building, asking all and sundry 'Do you know Ashley?'. I kick myself now for not making up a relationship with the girl and getting myself on US news but hindsight and all that jazz.
Everyone says the pace of New York is crazy. Not so. London's much faster and infinitely more impersonal. New Yorkers stroll, even in Times Square. And, yes they go overboard in their greetings and dealing with the public but they're truly overjoyed when they get a 'How are you?' back. And yes, you have to say where you're from a gazillion times but when the majority of Americans don't even have a passport, who can blame them for being excited? London, Paris, Rome, the moon - all these places seem beyond their reach so to connect with you means a connection to something unknown, exotic and beautiful. I think they can be allowed that at the very least.
And so being elsewhere concludes for now... well, nearly because it's back via London to Durham to meet my new niece (nephew??!) and I cannot wait. But returning home to my attic room, my comfy bed, my gorgeous housemates, my huge bath, my crowded fridge, my new oven, my lovely lovely house... my heart skips a beat at the thought.
