The waiting game…
I’m not sure if you’re ever tried port and tonic before, but it’s a really great drink if you order it in Portugal
Clear, fizzy, totally refreshing. Order one in Aberdeen, however, and you’ll get what looks like a concentrated Ribena that tastes of old boot. Not that it bothered me last night – I ordered about three after a dinner of one large Sauv Blanc.
I was originally going to fly back last night, but after getting to Scotland on Wednesday evening I realised that my original trip was going to need to be a bit longer after some changes. I hate waiting. I hate uncertainty. I especially hate when there is no plan.
The one good thing about waiting is that it can be productive. My sister knitted half a scarf yesterday. That’s quite good going for knitting. She’s staying until Sunday, I have to leave tonight. There will probably be a fully fledged quilt pouring out of intensive care by then. My mum and dad land tonight. They don’t knit.
I think it’s so important to stay positive in situations like these. Even when people are throwing figures and percentages at you. More changes. Less answers. Waiting seems so incredibly frustrating when there is nothing you can control, no question you can ask to improve a situation. Ultimately though, what matters is that you are exactly where you need to be.
We went for lunch at one of my grandfather’s favourite places to eat yesterday. I drove in his boy racer car with my uncle, who, being a RAF pilot, tried to get the car to fly when we hit the endless stretch of country road.. How many grandads do you know that have a personalised number plate? What a fucking legend.
Taking it one hour at a time. One baby step at a time. One badly made port and tonic at a time.
S x
