The North. Those signs that litter the A1, for me, have always been synonymous with hills, adventure and tea as black as tar.
It’s funny how the further up the country you get, the stronger the brew becomes. By the time you reach Wick, it must resemble treacle. Still, I’m not one to complain – not only did my brief northern sojourn let me visit M-, but I also felt cold for the first time in weeks. It was blissful.
As always, though, I’ve come away with much to think about. I’ve realised now that yes, I really do want to be back in Scotland, but until M- and I can afford a tea shop, or S- gets an absolutely incredible job there, we’re better off down here.
We’ll see how things go. Perhaps I’ll write a best selling novel, or win the lottery or something similar.
In any case, I’m home now and it’s back to the grind.