At teatime, when feasting on “leftovers” (really just a continuation of the lunch already supped), the (perhaps) forgotten leg ham was revealed, sliced, and warmed through, accompanied by more vegetables to create the roast dinner sequel. The day was a feast of laughter and food; reminiscing tales of childhood, while hearing squeals of delight as children play and collaborate: creating games with buckets of plastic food or little farmyard settings, or dressing in Arabian costumes adorned with gold coins, or donning a Batman outfit, flexing little biceps and grinning broadly in front of a nearby mirror.
Alas, for me, a mere two hours’ sleep followed, before the alarm rang at 4:30am. I should have expected a poor night’s sleep, considering the irritating combination of excitement and exhaustion. The last two weeks have created white noise between the ears that cannot be turned off, so I cannot rest; I am buzzing, fidgeting, feeling prickly and tense, and I check and double check lists endlessly to make sure we are ready when the calendar says we should be ready.
Well, we are here. This is day #1 of 700-odd. We are gypsies now, living in our caravan, travelling hundreds or thousands of kilometres to follow or find tides, people, food and festivals. These discoveries should block out the noise, allow me to breathe, smile, appreciate those things around me.
At last I can relax.
