For all those years there had been an excitement surrounding this bi-annual trip; being bundled up in the back of the car was the half of it. Travelling for eight hours was a pleasure and stopping at seven am half way into the journey to see the sun rise only made it more special. The thrill never left me, even through to my teenage years and the Moulin Rouge soundtrack that would be played when radio signal vanished still resonates with me.
My Grandmother always wanted to live closer to her family down in England but Grandad was so in love with that desilate, isolated landscape that she has remained a faithful companion to his wishes always.
My Grandad’s dream to settle in Scotland started 30 years ago when he wantedto relocate to pursue a diving career in the local lochs. He is entirely content with the surrounding landscape and now enjoysa peaceful drive to the local cafe for a cappuccino and collecting the daily newspaper, nine miles away from the house.
There are 389 miles between me and my grandparents. All I have ever known is this distance and it has always felt normal and easily achievable. I have become well accustomed with travelling the length of the country. It’s always been the same distance, never changed but now I feel it and understand it. There is a weariness that comes withit now, as the journey I once found a pleasure is now sometimes too far out of reach.
Every visit would be charted on the wall in the form of our current height until one day we outgrew the tradition and it stopped.
