Goodbye to an Old Friend

This morning I said Goodbye to an old friend, my Canadian canoe. She's gone to a good home down in Dorset,  to a sporty family who plan to canoe the Thames in the spring. Thanks for many happy hours paddling on the rivers outside the house.

Going Home

I know one day soon, THE DAY will arrive and I’ll be on my way.

If this were a tsunami or an earthquake, animals would be heading for high ground, sensing a change in air pressure, a distant ‘tummy rumble’ deep in the bowels of the earth.  In a way this is my seismic disturbance, my upheaval, my awakening to a new dawn. For me this is no ‘trip’ as I have done countless times to places far and near for many and varied reasons. This for me is a significant event, made all the more personal since I travel alone; choices, decisions, actions and consequences are my own. Most of my thoughts are unvoiced, weighed up, considered and decided in my head and occasionally in my heart. Preparation, physical and mental (emotional) is an inevitable part of travelling and I enjoy the practical detail. The emotional preparation is difficult to control; I prefer that it is left to run free to sample where when and how it chooses. The first few hours after arriving at my destination will determine the outcome, test the preparedness.
Going to INDIA for me IS a big deal, no, correctly it’s not the GOING, it’s the BEING in INDIA that’s the big deal for me; knowing and unknowing, I’ve been preparing for this all my life.


The idea of just simply being in India for me is indescribably delicious; I’m told India touches all your senses, all the time; if so, I look forward to being enveloped in such a blissful state, (That’s not expecting much!) though mindful of Ying and Yang.  I can eat one peanut butter sandwich but there’s a law of diminishing returns the more sandwiches I eat. I try to be realistic.


Going Home is what I’ll call this blog.


The pace is quickening, there’s a buzz in the air, an excitement mounting, a growing anticipation. My tail’s wagging; I find it hard to concentrate on writing. Items on various lists are growing, more and more struck through; items of clothing, useful bits and bobs are beginning to form small piles on the floor of my room like so many molehills. Things need sorting; currency, medications, e-tickets, passwords and usernames, addresses, camera stuff, chargers; all these businesses are the outward manifestation of a gathering excitement, a testing of preconceptions built up over decades from magazines, films, radio programmes, music, food and dribs and drabs of conversation, real and imagined. I try not to load too much anticipation, but is it fair to tell a child not to get excited about a birthday party? The anticipation is a reflex action; it’s the pituitary gland on full bore, it’s a prime-evil response to an expected event, the battle-cry of Baden Powel’s army of scouts: Be Prepared. Momentum is achieved, hopefully there’s no-going-back!


No, I’m perfectly calm and in full control:   YABA-DABA-DO!