If this year could be any year in my life? I had this moment as I read this question where I thought - nah, I'm good, I'm fine where I am. And it was such an automatic reaction that I felt so suprised and happy. I mean, wow, right? To get to a point in life where you're not looking to the past and saying: 'I really wish that I could go back to'. I mean, sure, I wouldn't mind those few weeks hanging out with that gorgeous British backpacker in Margaret River when I was 23, but hey - who wouldn't.
I think the romantic in me, however, would go back to 2003. You see, I'd just moved to England to be with a guy I'd spent a whole four days with over New Years. When I left, I said I'd see him in six months. I got back in four - that's how lovestruck I was. I had forgotton all about Margaret River that's for sure.
I had a couple of thousand Aussie dollars, two suitcases, and a five year old, and I was moving into a truck with a virtual stranger. It was the best decision I ever made. We bought a banged up old Peugot stationwagon and went straight to Scotland for an eclipse in the outer Hebrides. My son read us the Twits by Roald Dahl on the way very, very, very slowly. It was his first book. Within six months he was reading The Hobbit. I remember going over the Applecross Pass which was just stunning. Jamie had dreamt he would spent his thirtieth there and he'd never even heard of it. We were broke and staying in a tent and the midgies came down and we high tailed in to the pub with our last ten quid til dole day. He rang his Mum and his Nan had deposited a thousand quid into his account. You betcha we ate lobster at the best seafood restaurant in Scotland.
We moved into a little cottage in Somerset for a bit with an amazing valley behind it. It was tiny and we were in love and we loved it.
Then, because I missed the sea, we moved down to Dorset. It was a cute old miner's cottage in a thatched cottage village on a large block of land. A two minute walk up a path and there was an old oak tree over a chalk stream I'd swim in all the time in summer. There were otters in there too. The whole place was magic. I loved it beyond all reason. Last time I visited that village I burst into tears because I just remembered how happy we were. Like ludicrously happy.
We spent a lot of time travelling - a rainy trip to France and Carnac and the beautiful standing stones, Italy, but also around the south west. Everything felt infused with magic. We listened to a lot of Johnny Cash, Faithless, Dido, his house music on vinyl, reggae.
War in Iraq started. UK was hot - Faversham recorded 38 degrees. Hence, a lot of swimming in the stream, drinking good English scrumpy. We made a lot of country wines - elderberry, blackberry, crapapple, sloe gin. We shopped at the market every Saturday for french cheeses and olives.
The following year we'd get married. My nephew would be born and I'd recieve the email via a very slow download, crying with homesickness. Still I was incredibly in love and incredibly happy, more so than I thought it was possible to be.
We flew a pirate flag in the garden. Jamie cut himself a mohawk. Jarrah started a new school and had friends up the road and we wouldn't know where he was half the time because they'd be building forts, hiding in the attic, swmming in their above ground pool. We'd wander over to the neighbours to find him and they'd bring out cheese platters, wine, gin, red wine, ales, port.
We explored standing stones, quoits, forts, forests, beaches, cliff tops, hills, mountains, streams, waterfalls, ancient ruins.
We are still in love of course, but time settles things, doesn't it? It's no longer the rosiness of the honeymoon period and life seems to have more responsibilities somehow. Still, I'm happy. It'd be strange to relive it, unless I didn't know I was reliving it, and then what would be the point?
Happy New Year, 
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