Home Away From Home

It is officially daytime and I am back at the computer. I did eventually go back to bed and managed to get perhaps an extra hour’s kip so obviously I am firing on all cylinders now. Um, what day of the week is it today? Sleep or no sleep, one must not waste the day and so here I am, sitting in front of the computer, trying to peer at the screen through bleary eyes whilst clutching a vat of coffee with shaking hands. It is a good thing I do not have to drive or operate heavy machinery today. I shall instead attempt to take you through some of the highlights of the mammoth Tour of Britain, though as almost every day was a highlight for me, I am anticipating that this will take the form of multiple blogs. We return to Blighty mid-way through my first full week, when I have left The (not-fire-breathing-dragon) Mother-in-law and have just arrived in North Oxfordshire to visit The Grandparents.


Granny and Grandad were waiting for me on the platform when I disembarked from the train. Granny gave me one of her special stranglehold Granny Hugs, clasping me to her with the strength of ten young men and pressing a long kiss on each cheek. Grandad gave me an old school perfunctory kiss and a quick hug and tried to take my case from me. He is eighty four. I had to practically wrestle him to the ground to prevent him from taking it. Luckily, it didn’t quite get that far – pushing my elderly grandfather to the ground wasn’t quite the reunion I had envisioned.

The drive from the station to their house really was a lovely homecoming. We flew down narrow country lanes flanked by wildflowers, trees and hedges. We passed through quiet little villages full of chocolate box cottages, ivy-covered pubs and walled gardens. Fluffy sheep, fat cows, muddy pigs and free-range chickens all occupied the hedge-lined fields. This is England, the England I miss. Lush and green, it is a million miles away from dusty Karratha in every way. All this I took in between bouts of fear and mild panic as Grandad braked suddenly, completely missed a car pulling out in front of him, or accidentally put his foot down too hard on the accelerator. I feared for my life more than once on that journey. I can see now why so many people believe that once you pass a certain age you should be regularly tested to ensure you are still competent to drive.

As we pulled into the drive at Stranger’s Drift, I felt a wave of euphoria rush through me, and not just because we had miraculously made it there without a visit to hospital. Driving up to their converted barn felt like coming home. This is the house that was the one constant for me growing up – we used to come here every summer when we were in Hong Kong – and it is reassuring to know that some things never change. Wherever I am in the world, Stranger’s Drift will always be here, just the same as it always was. The large garden with its vegetable patch, rose bushes and beds bursting with colourful flowers, the outbuildings with the dartboard and croquet set that used to make an appearance every summer, the old house itself with its creaking floorboards and wonderful smell of ancient wood. The rituals of a stay with The Grandparents were equally comforting. Tea at 4.30pm out of a china pot, with matching china cups and saucers, accompanied by homemade cake and biscuits; gins and tonics at 6.30pm with a selection of nibbles, followed by a hearty meal (butter on everything!) and ending with a game of Yahzee. The routine never changes and, when you live abroad and things are constantly changing and new and different, that’s like snuggling up with an favourite old blanket.