After a Covid caused hiatus, ‘Napfest’ returned in 2022.
One of the most anticipated events of my calendar year. Myself and four or, unfortunately due to a scheduling issues, three of my friends find a rare weekend where we can all escape our daily grind and meet up at a mutually agreed place and time. The last time, North Berwick in 2019. Marvellously local-ish for me but not so much for everyone else, so after a few enforced years off it was time to search for middle grounds.
The gals would have loved North Berwick again but seeing as I was the one with a slightly more flexible schedule, I made the offer to do the most travelling. I’m never adverse to a wee drive, especially a solo one that allows for a five hour concert by me and my favourite tunes.
Yorkshire was most hospitable. I’ll admit when I arrived, the village reminded me of the one from ‘Hot Fuzz’. It might have been paranoia, but I was certain there were curtains twitching and notes being taken about the ‘newcomers’ infiltrating the ‘burgh. The local cats made themselves at home the moment I opened the cottage door and there were large, angrily written signs imploring us to ‘watch the ducks’. I’m hoping this was a request for us to be careful not to accidentally knock them down as opposed to sitting outside monitoring their twilight movements.
Three of us arrived on Thursday with the fourth joining us Friday afternoon. Cards were played, won and lost. Meandering strolls taken. Drinks chinked. Food (too much) consumed. And, most importantly, naps taken.
Even the Yorkshire weather was rejoicing over our reunion. The two sun worshippers revelling in the heat while I hid in a suitably shady spot willing my skin not to ignite like touch paper. It was hotter than a Scotch Bonnet Pepper. It was hotter than a Scotch Bonnet Pepper with chilli sauce, heated in the oven. The only thing it wasn’t hotter than? The rest of the week apparently.
Now safely back home, having left at 5.45am on the Monday to miss both the traffic and the weather, I have decided Scotland at 30+ degrees is COMPLETELY different to 30+ degrees abroad and I will not be told otherwise. Abroad nobody who knows me, sees me in summer gear with my legs so bright white they attract bugs the moment darkness falls. Hot countries have air conditioning and even siestas. They understand it and don’t have airport tarmacs that melt. ACTUALLY MELT. Those poor folks booking a holiday in July, I imagine to guarantee decent weather, can you imagine being one of them and finding out your flight is cancelled because it’s TOO HOT TO FLY?
Nothing makes sense in this heat here in Scotland. Especially parenting teenagers during hot summer holidays. I have one that loves the warmth but is working full time. One, like me, who doesn’t cope with the heat and she’s out all day. And the third who copes beautifully and looks effortless at all times. Summer version of this Nagging Mam? Why are you still asleep at 2pm? Why are you making noodles for ‘breakfast’ and getting in my way as I try to prep a ‘no cook’ dinner? Why are you still awake yapping on the phone at 3am? Because? Because what? Because isn’t an answer? OK! Fine, I give up. I love you but don’t touch me, am too hot. I love you from over here on the other side of the room and no, it’s my cool spot and I’m not sharing.
My quick break with the gals reminded me, if we’re lucky, we get 18 wonderful summers with our children – this is one of them. If that’s not perspective, I don’t know what is. So don’t apologise to me about your holiday spam. I am here for all of it. The airport pics and photos of clouds disappearing over wings of the plane. Pictures of your hotel, your dreadlocked hair and ever the random traffic cone you woke up with. I am here for it all. For your raw, pure joy (I draw the line at your workouts) so tell it authentically and with heart and never diminish your happiness.
