I think I must have got it from my mother. WANDERLUST I mean. I have often wondered why I found myself in Harrogate eating chocolate ginger when I should have been sitting in lectures in College in Bradford. It was those names on the front of buses that did it. I just had to try them all out. The places I mean. I just couldn’t resist.
I think I vaguely remember going to Harrogate with my mother, and going to the shop that sold chocolate ginger. She was a right one for chocolate ginger, my mother. And she was a right one for moving house too. Every bloody six months. No wonder I can’t do Maths. I mean, what do you expect when you get to a new school and they’re doing decimals and you are still stuck on fractions. I gave up at that point. Not that my mother did. Got excited at the thoughts of moving to a new place. Even when we finally settled in the same town, she had to keep moving. Up and down that bloody hill. They used to tease her that she was wearing that bit of road out. She didn’t take too kindly to that. She never was good at taking jokes, my mother.
I’ve always wanted to wander free. Not be caged in. Sleeping in fields. You know, that sort of thing.
“The best people sleep under hedges.”
That’s what my cousin David used to say. And he was right. Then he buggered off to Holland. No one ever knew where he went. Waved him off on the boat from Hull and that was it. He might be in a monastery now for all we know. He had stayed with the monks one time when he was down on his luck. Maybe the hedges in Holland weren’t any good. Or maybe there aren’t any in Holland. Well he certainly had the wanderlust too.
My Dad wasn’t too bad at it either. Mind, he always got lost anyway. Couldn’t find his way from one street to another even in Blackpool. Abroad would certainly have taxed him. He’d probably have ended up in the red light district. Just like my Mum did. But that’s a whole other story of wanderlust getting the better of you.
Yeah, I’ve got a bit of the wanderlust. See you in Timbuctoo.