For the last several years - since the children were old enough - we have escaped for a long weekend in the spring to visit a European city. Just the two of us. An escape from life, work, and whatever else for a few days - walking city streets, and wandering around museums, galleries, and bookshops - and perhaps trying out local food and drinks along the way.
This year we’re not going quite so far afield.
At some point tomorrow morning we’re getting in the car and heading off towards Hay on Wye - a small town in the Welsh borders. It’s perhaps best known for hosting a huge literary festival each year - where famous authors and publishers congregate to meet the public.
We’re not going for the literary festival - we’re just going because we’ve never visited. I’m reliably informed that the town is filled with bookshops. Those that know about the tower of unread books behind me will no doubt have started grinning - in the same way you might at a grand piano dangling precariously from a Harold Lloyd upstairs window.
So yes. I’m probably going to be buying books I don’t need from shops I should have walked past. We’ll also explore - go for walks - try out the local beer - find a quiet café or two. It would be rude not to.
Most of all, we’ll try to slow down. Switch off.
The last few months have been… a lot.
Of course the temptation - as all parents know - is to talk endlessly about everything going on as soon as you’re away from it. We’re going to consciously try NOT to do that.
If I can find a second hand Hemingway in the back of a quaint little shop in the middle of a small town in the Welsh borders, and sit in a quiet corner at the back of public house somewhere to read it and escape for a little while, I’ll be more than happy.