Summer Holiday

The first holiday that I went on was in 1970. It was just after my 14th birthday. We went to Pontin's  holiday camp on Jersey for a week. It was a profound, and emotional, experience. I'm not attempting irony or humour in saying that. My dad had died the previous summer and the only reason we were at last able to afford a holiday was the insurance payout. Thinking about it now, it wasn't the most salubrious set-up. The chalet was a room with 2 sets of bunk beds, and a small bathroom (I think there was a bathroom), and it had to contain my mam and 3 boys. At the time it seemed amazing. We flew there from Newcastle. It was the first time any of us had flown and I remember it as noisy, bouncy and exciting. The holiday camp was actually a pretty quiet place, located on a headland and surrounded by lovely small coves and beaches. In looking for pictures to accompany this post I've found out that it's now abandoned and derelict, and I found this aerial photo.

 It looks a bit grim in the picture, but the sun shone every day when we were there. We made friends with some kids from Essex and I fell in love with a girl called Wendy from Westcliff on Sea. That's probably a bit of an exaggeration, given that the high point of our relationship involved us sitting on the swings at dusk, holding hands and talking. I think it was probably the first time since my dad had died that I talked to somebody detached from that drama, somebody who didn't know the story and who was prepared to listen as I told it.

I hated going home. Whitley Bay seemed drab and grim. Our house, still full of memories, felt claustrophobic. I'd seen the possibilities of a world outside our bubble of grief and then they'd gone. Nothing had changed. I was angry and depressed, and this was compounded by the phalanx of well-meaning adults who guarded my mam and who kept telling me how grateful I should be for having had such a wonderful, and expensive, experience. I realise now that it was life-changing. I didn't suddenly come to terms with the loss of my dad - that would take many more years - but I knew that I wanted to get out into the world, to escape the confines of my family and my home town.

I started this post because I wanted to tell you about the fantastic holiday we had this summer. Funny where your thoughts can take you.

September catch-up

Summer's on its way out, and boxes full of new English apples are appearing at Unicorn, our local Vegan supermarket. Somewhere in August I lost my blogging Mojo, and I've decided that the only way to get it back is to write, write, write my way through the blockage.

The last post I wrote was in the week leading up to the Great North Swim. I was ill, I hadn't been able to practise and as the day drew nearer I was resigning myself to deferring. I didn't feel well enough to drive up to the Lakes, let alone dive into one. Then, on the Thursday evening, a text arrived announcing that the swim had been cancelled due to unsafe levels of blue green algae. I was able to defer to next year, and as my health returned I have picked up my swimming, and I've decided to make use of the practice and preparation by signing up for the Great Salford Swim, taking place at Salford Quays next Sunday. I  was apprehensive about this. After all, a converted dock on the Manchester Ship Canal doesn't sound as appealing as a beautiful lake in Cumbria. Anyway, yesterday I went to a training session in the dock with my wife and we swam 800 metres in our wetsuits at 7.30 in the morning. It was amazing. I know now that I'm going to do it, and I'm going to enjoy it.

The canal in the picture forms part of the course, joining the two dock basins that we swim around. I was amazed at the quality of the water, and I soon overcame my fears about putting my head under. I was able to get my breast stroke rhythm going, which was something else I was anxious about, as I'd been told that breast stroke is difficult when wearing a wetsuit. 

My aim now is to see if I can complete the course within an hour. I usually do a mile in the pool in about 53 minutes, so here's hoping. Roll on next Sunday.