There is a wanderlust that cannot be satisfied by grey gloomy skies and trudging through wet yellowed leaves. The sort that is stirred by blue seas and white sands and good food and great weather. Somewhere like Crete. I feel like escaping, getting away from the drudgery of daily life. A good friend has embarked on a South American odyssey for two and a half months. I have been reading of her exploits regularly updated on her travel blog. To say I envy her would be an understatement. I wish my work, the life I chose for myself allowed me that sort of freedom.

Paris? Perhaps. But it would be the same as Britain, no? Only made seemingly more romantic with all the glamour associated with the City of Light. I want to go back to that photo gallery/shop to buy more black and white prints capturing days gone by. I want to walk by the Seine, yes, even in rainy weather. All the more in rainy weather – huddled close under the umbrella having the whole riverbank to ourselves. I want to tuck into rich, comforting, calorific French fare. To bite into the crisp crumbliness of a pistachio macaron.

I’ve been bitten by the diving bug. I want to go diving in the Red Sea and be amazed. How else are you going to come as close to wildlife as diving? Certainly not by going on a safari in Africa or jungle trekking in Asia. I miss hearing myself breathe, regulating my breaths so I don’t use up too much of my oxygen supply. I miss the weightlessness and freedom of floating underwater. The euphoria of discovering a hitherto unseen sea creature. The reassuring presence of your dive buddy.

Perhaps this maudlinness is influenced by the grey, drab, bitingly cold weather we’re having at the moment. Until my next trip abroad, I can only replicate holiday experiences via the kitchen!



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