I need to write the words that go with the pictures from the Air Ambulance ride, but it’s not an easy one to start. I am at risk of dire sentimentalism! I have done the trip three times now. The first time was while I was trying to come to terms with choosing to leave my husband, an act for which I still feel massive guilt. Last year the relationship I turned my life upside down for was in its death throes, and as we ate our chips in a sandy car park on Anglesey it was clear that I would be going home to start living alone for the first time. This year I have a new job which is going well, a by-line in RiDE (the fee for which paid for most of the petrol), and a small diamond-bright sense of optimism that finally, maybe, it is going to be OK.
Optimism which didn’t save me from the terminal embarassment of bursting into tears in front of Steve, this year’s travelling Aussie, on the last day, just like a 7 – year old who doesn’t want to go home from the seaside. With all its miles, frustrations, crashes, oil panics, broken nights and downpours, it is still an amazing experience and one which I wish could go on for ever.
“And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.”