Back in the year 2000, Steve and I booked a long weekend in Southern Spain. We used to do that kind of thing quite a lot. We were both working, but had good holiday entitlement, and we made the most of it. We’d keep an eye out for cheap flights, thumb through the Lonely Planet to find a hotel, shove a few things in a backpack, and head off. Why not? We didn’t have any ties, so we crammed as much travel in as we could.
But this trip was a little different. A few days before we left, we’d had a conversation one evening on the sofa. About how we’d been together for seven years, and we couldn’t imagine ever being with any one else. And neither of us was getting any younger. So maybe it was about time we got married and had children.
Even when you’ve been with someone for seven years, that’s quite a big conversation to have. And quite a scary decision to make. A decision that takes a lot of thinking about. A lot of talking about.
So, while we visited the wonderful Alhambra, stood on the dizzyingly high bridge over the gorge in Ronda and wandered around Seville, stopping to drink freshly squeeze orange juice in moorish-tiled cafes, my mind was somewhere else. I was excited, and nervous, couldn’t concentrate. Were we really going to do this? Was it the right thing to do? Would it all turn out OK?
Turned out it was the right thing to do. And it did turn out OK. More than OK. But I still can’t think of that week without getting that feeling of nervous anticipation all over again.
This post was for The Gallery. I was very honoured this week to have inspired the prompt ‘Holidays’. As you might expect, I had rather a lot of pictures to choose from. And while this picture isn’t necessarily my best holiday photo, I like the story attached.
PS I showed this post to Steve, who bizarrely has absolutely no memory of the fact that we’d had THAT conversation just before this holiday. Hopeless.