September 30th, 2007

squee

Sentimental journey

Owen and I spent most of last week on holiday in Dublin. I took heaps of photos, and for once I even managed to get them all online within a day of getting back.

Before we went, my work colleagues asked me: What on earth is there to do in Dublin in September? Answer: wander round lots of interesting libraries, churches, and museums; go along the coast to the nearest sandy beach, pick up interesting rocks, and paddle in the sea; enjoy the sunshine; go shopping; sit in pubs and cafes, drinking and eating and talking; and get engaged.



For me, the best holidays aren't necessarily the ones where the aim is to find as many things as possible to fill the time, or the ones in the weirdest places; they're the ones where I get to spend time with someone I love, doing things we enjoy, finding things to be interested in, and sharing an umbrella when it rains. I could try to count how many photos we took on holiday, how many books we bought, how many coffees we drank; and it might be fun to make those lists; but when does the holiday start? When we step out of the house? When we start packing the bags, when we start planning the trip?

In 8 days' time Owen and I will have been going out for 3 years. In that time we've (between us) lived in 5 different houses in 3 cities, had 7 jobs, been on 4 holidays to 3 countries, and become 6 years older. We could measure out our lives in Scrabble games. What is there to do in Oxford or thereabouts, for a lifetime or so? The holiday's already begun.



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