Good day from the old Dart,
After finishing my school days back in 1977, lots of my confreres were heading to the United Kingdom on working holidays. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek. It’s been a source of regret that I didn’t have the gumption to follow suit, to follow them into this wide and universal theatre.
Linda had a similar gap in her travel history. And England is in our veins, eh what? And the spirit of my father, which I think is within me compelled me to the Old Dart. Among the readers who are my sisters, for your father’s remembrance, be at accord.
the travel bug
Since that age, the travel bug has unmistakably struck hard. I’ve taken to wander, fleet the time carelessly. I think Linda has the bug now, too. “That with licence of free foot has caught, wouldst thou disgorge into the general world,” she often remarks.
So we sat together at the proverbial kitchen table to plan for the trip. Linda did therefore devise with me how we may fly, whither to go and what to bear with us. But is the English summer something to hanker after? My first concern was, I thought that all things had been savage here. And therefore put I on a countenance of stern commandment. Retorted she, (as wine comes out of a narrow-mouthed bottle) “how full of briers is this working day world? We that are true lovers run into strange capers,“she went on. Sighed I: “It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.” Then: “You will not be answered with reason,“ I said, scowling.
the icy fang
It was settled nonetheless. How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? Upon fixing the itinerary, what to look forward to? One colleague vowed, “here shall we see no enemy but winter and rough weather”. But even that prospect didn’t daunt the indomitable Linda: “I can suck the melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs.” And looking on with lacklustre eye . . . I did laugh sans intermission. We assuredly needed our warm clothes. Here feel we . . . the season’s difference, as the icy fang.
So, the adventure to England was on. It was thrown upon thee in holiday foolery. My epistle – on the eve of our departure – shall be news-crammed. We started with a Shakespearean play at The Globe: O Yes, into a thousand similes. And wheresoever we went, like Juno’s swans, we were coupled and inseparable. From South to North, we could lose and neglect the creeping hours of time. From London to Ireland, we added to the great heap of our knowledge.
At the end of a tremendous journey, Linda says, “I like this place. And could waste my time in it”. Yours truly says, “I am heartily glad I came hither”. We leave London tomorrow after a voyage as large a charter as the wind. Now, that was laid on with a trowel, wouldn’t you agree?
In my youth I never did apply hot and rebellious liquors in my blood. And I turn no more to seek a living in our territory. Our sojourn here was a promise fulfilled. Thus may a man grow wiser every day. So, from Greg, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness in London.
PostScript: which Shakespeare play did we see?