Firstly, today has been a good day.
5 routes climbed today with Per from Sweden, he's parked next to me and wins the 'best van in the car park' competition. By a long way!
In terms of numbers it went 6b/6b+/7b/7b+/7b. The latter being a flash, the others all on-sight. Considering yesterday I felt poorly (I'm blaming the water) and was a grumpy old man, today is a good day.
I carried a bit of guilt with me as it feels like I almost forced Steve to go to Valencia today. I feel pretty bad for that, even though it probably was the best thing to do, I still feel like an ass.
Its a bunch of mixed emotions in here right now. Themi having blood tests, Steve. Life in the van and the absolute need for personal space. Car park behaviour. The usual kind of thing!
I've learned loads so far... I've learned that sliding doors on panel vans ARE HIDIOUS!!!!
First they try it quietly...... Second go, they try a bit harder.....Third go they slam it. Please you fuckers!!!!!! Hit it first time. There are about 10 vans with sliding doors. Assholes!!! I'm only joking (of course).
When Steve arrived it reminded me how down to earth he is and how approachable he is. He sorted out the tent so we could each have our space.... He may have read my mind. Its like 'home' in the van......... A small home and its a difficult juggling act to live in there when its all I have. He understands and I'm grateful for that. Which makes me feel even more of a shit about today :(
Steve at home in the van...
I've been asked a lot about where I'm from. I say Scotland, which leads to the comment about my accent and 'where's home?'
I've found myself wandering about this very question since I left. Actually, probably before that.
Where is home? Is it a place? A person?
I know what the normal accepted idea of home is. I've been there. A house, with the family, in a place I know, a place I came back to after work. THE place we come back to.
But looking at things now, where I am now, I wander if I'm Scottish? English? Or as my passport says, British? Isn't home where you grow up and stay? I grew up in The Midlands, with the kids I went to school with... Is that home?
At 14 years old (Jan 11th 1977) the family moved to Huntly in Aberdeenshire. Here I finished off school, was regularly picked on for being English, and as if being English wasn't enough, a religious boy as well. Is that home?
Then, a few years serving Queen and country moving from place to place, camp to camp, barracks to married quarters. That's not home. NATS and Kilmarnock, Prestwick, Aberdeen....back home to Aberdeen. Back home. There you go. Aberdeen must be home right? Maybe. I certainly feel Scottish. I certainly say I'm Scottish. I love Aberdeenshire, it is in its own way, a very nice, pretty county. But Aberdeen you can keep. Grey, dreich, and up itself, in a big way.
Home. It confuses me to think of the places I've called home. Number 24 was the longest I've stayed in one place and was close to Mom and both the families, and its also where everything changed.
So I come back to that question. Place or person.
Could you feel at home anywhere as long as you were with someone special?
I remember October 2001 and the first time I went to Kalymnos. It felt like home immediately
Now in every sense of the word it IS home. The place. The person.
Home. It's where the heart is.
5 routes climbed today with Per from Sweden, he's parked next to me and wins the 'best van in the car park' competition. By a long way!
In terms of numbers it went 6b/6b+/7b/7b+/7b. The latter being a flash, the others all on-sight. Considering yesterday I felt poorly (I'm blaming the water) and was a grumpy old man, today is a good day.
I carried a bit of guilt with me as it feels like I almost forced Steve to go to Valencia today. I feel pretty bad for that, even though it probably was the best thing to do, I still feel like an ass.
Its a bunch of mixed emotions in here right now. Themi having blood tests, Steve. Life in the van and the absolute need for personal space. Car park behaviour. The usual kind of thing!
I've learned loads so far... I've learned that sliding doors on panel vans ARE HIDIOUS!!!!
First they try it quietly...... Second go, they try a bit harder.....Third go they slam it. Please you fuckers!!!!!! Hit it first time. There are about 10 vans with sliding doors. Assholes!!! I'm only joking (of course).
When Steve arrived it reminded me how down to earth he is and how approachable he is. He sorted out the tent so we could each have our space.... He may have read my mind. Its like 'home' in the van......... A small home and its a difficult juggling act to live in there when its all I have. He understands and I'm grateful for that. Which makes me feel even more of a shit about today :(
I've been asked a lot about where I'm from. I say Scotland, which leads to the comment about my accent and 'where's home?'
I've found myself wandering about this very question since I left. Actually, probably before that.
Where is home? Is it a place? A person?
I know what the normal accepted idea of home is. I've been there. A house, with the family, in a place I know, a place I came back to after work. THE place we come back to.
But looking at things now, where I am now, I wander if I'm Scottish? English? Or as my passport says, British? Isn't home where you grow up and stay? I grew up in The Midlands, with the kids I went to school with... Is that home?
At 14 years old (Jan 11th 1977) the family moved to Huntly in Aberdeenshire. Here I finished off school, was regularly picked on for being English, and as if being English wasn't enough, a religious boy as well. Is that home?
Then, a few years serving Queen and country moving from place to place, camp to camp, barracks to married quarters. That's not home. NATS and Kilmarnock, Prestwick, Aberdeen....back home to Aberdeen. Back home. There you go. Aberdeen must be home right? Maybe. I certainly feel Scottish. I certainly say I'm Scottish. I love Aberdeenshire, it is in its own way, a very nice, pretty county. But Aberdeen you can keep. Grey, dreich, and up itself, in a big way.
Home. It confuses me to think of the places I've called home. Number 24 was the longest I've stayed in one place and was close to Mom and both the families, and its also where everything changed.
So I come back to that question. Place or person.
Could you feel at home anywhere as long as you were with someone special?
I remember October 2001 and the first time I went to Kalymnos. It felt like home immediately
Now in every sense of the word it IS home. The place. The person.
Home. It's where the heart is.
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