I’ve just been on holiday. In our caravan. In the part of Hampshire where the South Downs is just beginning to roll. In a week of crazy totally unseasonal September heat (30° on some of the days). Under glorious blue skies and strong sun.
We saw the majestic pines on Lepe beach, the arboretum and herbaceous borders at Exbury, strolled round the property-lust-inducing village of Chawton and visited the museum in Jane Austen’s house. We went on a steam train on the Watercress line from Alton to Alresford, had fish and chips in a pub, watched ducks float serenely on the beautifully clear chalk stream.
I wore a long-sleeved jacket and a below-the-knee skirt and a large-brimmed hat and put my UV-protective but nonetheless excitingly lace-trimmed parasol up when the sun was strong and direct. But I had sandals on my feet, and no additional layers.
2010 was the last year I went on holiday. During one of my better periods, we visited the same caravan site, a small square field bordered by tall trees. I knew the sunrise and sunset times by heart; we had a run of early starts and evening strolls, and for the rest of the time I stayed in the van and Pete went off on his own.
This time we dozed luxuriously through the dawn, watched dusk from the caravan windows and went on day trips like normal people.
At last I’m seeing the world in its true colours. Someone has taken away my box of subtle pastels and given me a primary school paint set.
Red orange yellow green blue purple
Rowan dahlia sunflower grass sky blackberry
Wham! Kapow! I’m still reeling.
Hooray for low-histamine diets, histamine-reducing probiotics, and dna-test-targeted supplements.
Hooray for my wonderful J, who gave me back every last leaf.