Oh I do like...

...to be on holiday. Particularly when it's beside the seaside.

Hi, dear reader. It's me again, back - if only briefly - to tell you about my latest holiday. I realise I've been somewhat lax in my blogging of late. Life has kind of got in the way, if I'm honest. And it will do again pretty soon, but more of that in another post. For now, however, it's holiday blog time...

I'm just back from a fun-filled (yes, really!) week in Yorkshire, which also doubled up as multiple trips down memory lane. Day trips to Whitby and Scarborough. Country drives around the North York Moors and Vale of York. A visit to York itself. Almost every day brought a wave of remembered moments. Even staying in the cottage was (a bit) like those family holidays we had as I was growing up.

But the biggest jolt was when we deliberately went out to find some specific places, and I found that I had very vivid recollections of the places themselves that were hidden in the dim dusty parts of my unconscious mind. Places like Great Ayton, where I spent a week every summer in my teenage years discovering that I wasn't quite as far from normal as I thought I was. Or like the suburbs of York, where my grandparents lived and where I spent time most school holidays. Or Hemingbrough, where my Mum's grandparents lived. Finding that I recognised street names and bits of road almost instantly was very strange, and just proves how powerful our brains really are.

We also found time to do new stuff on our week away - a James concert at the Stockton Weekender Festival, a performance of the York Mystery Plays, and a visit to Castle Howard being just some of them.

Best of all, however, was the taster we got of what 'playing house' is going to be like. Soon, very soon. But that's a post for another day too. For now, I'll leave you with some of the photos from our break. There's more to be posted so check back a couple of times if you want to see the full set.

Thanks for reading, hope to see you again soon :)

So good ...

...to be back home again, even if I am missing my big sister, Mr Ebb and the Wee Guy dreadfully. They are off skiing on Grouse at the moment, so I can't even phone them for a chat. Although if the jet lag works its magic, I may well still be awake by the time they get home!! You would think after 22 hours travelling I would be sleepy by now?

The journey home was fine, or as fine as leaving family behind on the wrong side of the departures gate can ever be. The Air Canada flight left on time, even if they did charge me excess baggage for no good reason (grr) and arrived in Heathrow on time. I managed about 4 hours sleep on the plane and, apart from a bad case of restless legs as I was trying to drop off, it was all very comfortable. I managed to navigate my way through Flight Connections without mishap this year too (last time I got lost and went round about 3 times before finding the way out!) to get me from Terminal 3 to Terminal 1 at Heathrow.

But then disaster struck! Well, not quite disaster but certainly delay. Everyone doing the snow dance for me must have got their steps muddled I think. Instead of dumping huge amounts of snow at Heathrow and therefore preventing my departure from Canada, the weather gods diverted the snow to Edinburgh, delaying my arrival back home by about 4 hours. And also messing up my carefully crafted transfer arrangements from Edinburgh Airport back to Stirling. So instead, I managed to get another couple of 'first' experiences under my belt - a taxi transfer home from the airport (ouch, expensivo!) and arriving at an airport and not being met by anyone. I wouldn't recommend either experience to be honest!

While at Heathrow for my additional 4 hours I whiled away the time on my Netbook, chatting to a fellow delayed traveller and knitting (yes, the dreaded Moebius cowl in its second incarnation - looking much more promising this time). I did NOT - contrary to many friends' text suggestions - go shopping for shoes. Honest!

And now I'm back home - to a lovely warm flat, with running water. And 4 inches of snow. So, what was the first thing I did after I'd dumped the bags and cleared the snow from the steps? Built a snowman of course. A mini one, admittedly, but a snow man all the same!

As one of my other texts commented this afternoon, welcome back to the new year in Scotland - looks pretty much like the old year did when I left. Back to the familiar sites of a snow covered car with no easy possibility of driving off any time soon. And also back to the familiar welcoming sight just inside the front door - snowy boots drying off! There is, after all, comfort in familar things. And I do like the snow!!

PS Still missing you big sis xxx

Childhood revisited

Yesterday I did something a bit different. Or more accurately something I haven't done for quite some time - I went to visit an archaeological excavation. One of the local primary schools is due to be extended and as it's already known to be built on a Roman fort, any further work at the school requires an archaeological assessment to be done first. So I thought I would go up and have a look, not having anything better to do with my day.

It was pretty interesting, although Time Team it wasn't! But perhaps you're wondering what that has to do with the title of the post. Well, here it is. My dad was an archaeologist (no wonder my spelling is generally pretty good, imagine having to spell that from an early age!) and quite often we would join him at some excavation or other. Since he was a specialist in Roman archaeology in Scotland, and in particular in determining the extent of Roman penetration into northern Scotland, much of what we saw or were present at the excavations of were temporary marching camps. In other words, a field with a ditch round it - and if you were lucky you might find a gateway! Fascinating as these are to archaeologists and historians in tracing the Roman occupation and penetration of northern Britain, to a small child they can be deeply boring. I suspect the most fun and excitement my sister and I had was falling into the trenchs!

But yesterday's excavation was fascinating - not just for the finds, but to be told that actually it was my Dad that discovered it in the first place and undertook the first exploratory trenches. The person I spoke to even told me that the woman living in the house next to the school has photographs of Dad digging there way back when!

The team working there just now seemed genuinely excited to be talking to 'Gordon Maxwell's daughter' - and I was ever so proud of him! So my next task now, is to get him to visit before they finish the excavations!

And by the way, he's also been on Time Team! But no, I haven't met Tony Robinson.
 

Homeward bound

Secret path, Micklegarth garden
Originally uploaded by bexybeads

After an exceptionally busy week at work I've headed home for the weekend. So what, you ask, isn't that what we all do? But for me, home this weekend isn't my lovely flat but my real home - where I grew up.

Mum and Dad celebrated their 49th wedding anniversary yesterday - well, celebrated might be a loose description since Dad forgot to send a card or buy flowers and Mum cooked him an inedible meal as revenge! But as part of their 'celebration' they've also got me to put up with for the weekend.

I'd not really realised how much this place is still home to me, until I thought about heading here after work tonight. Although I haven't lived here for over 20 years, and have actually lived away from here longer than I've lived here, it does still feel like home when I'm back. The things around and about the house may have changed but the place is still the same.

It was a magical place to grow up - a huge garden with lots of places to hide and trees to climb, set in a homely village you could wander around and explore without worrying about who everyone was and all set by the seaside - beautiful in all seasons. I think that's perhaps why when I needed somewhere to escape to at the start of the summer, my heart told me to find a place by the sea.

It's good to know that even in the toughest times, there's always somewhere that's home. I guess I'm lucky - I know that's not the case for everyone, and I can't imagine not having that bedrock beneath me.

Thanks Mum and Dad xxx