80 Miles

Today I am in a particularly pensive mood. So I shall tell the story of my most recent mini-adventure.

I have been living in a caravan since the beginning of July with the exception of a few nights on a sofabed in an Alsatian village and a night in my old bunk bed in my Grandad's house. That was four weeks ago now and since then I've pretty much been alone in my dinky, chilly caravan. I've had three nights of company in that time, which have been lovely. It seems I like very much to have friendly faces around. It makes sense - since leaving home four years ago I've been living with at least 2 others, initially through first-year necessity, and since then through choice. The relative success of these arrangements aside (first year taught me rather a lot), I've rarely been without company for so long.

This past week I found myself missing Real Life more and more, and feeling down that it would be a while until my next chance to catch up with my Bridget Jones-style urban family. I reckon it's ok to own up to this.

Monday morning each week sees us sitting around the kitchen table in the house discussing which of the three of us gets which day off. This week it was yesterday. Right, thought I, I'm out of here. Public transport between here and Aberdeen conspires against me time and time again, but I thought I'd give it a shot. Being spontaneous, and all that. Tuesday night I buy a bunch of assorted train tickets and book a night in a cheap Invernessian hostel. Wednesday evening, I finish my reception stint, grab a bag and run for a bus. Took me 5 hours to get back to Aberdeen. Dear Universe, Seriously, 80 miles in 5 hours? 16 miles an hour? That's the best you can do and then you get grumpy when we run cars and use petrol and get fat. Kid, don't rant now.

This gives me a glorious 22 hours at home. I have flapjack and a late night natter with the girls about men and babies. I sleep in a real bed, in only one layer of pyjamas in the same building as a toilet. I cook breakfast where the fridge, cooker and sink are in the same room. I walk my new flatmate to work in trainers I haven't worn in months and my feet feel so much better. I catch a bus that comes every 20  minutes instead of once a day. I wander Aberdeen and notice that I no longer recognise the faces of the homeless people, 2 months away and they're off again. I buy some new reading material in the Oxfam bookshop and meet up with a friend for coffee and a giant slice of victoria sponge. It was lovely, we talked for hours about life and the future, and all the things we should do with our lives. Planned adventures and a grand tour of France. It might even happen one day. Plans are much more exciting if they might come true in the end. I met more folks for lunch and dropped in on another in the afternoon before joining the whole gang for an evening's SCD. More friendly faces, more talking, more hugs than I've had in weeks. Since the last time I saw them all, frankly.

In short, I love my friends. They are worth two long late night bus and train journeys, a very short night in a hostel and a painfully early morning train back here. Yes, it's soppy, but most of them won't read this so I'm safe for the time being. As I write the internet isn't working so I'm as safe as houses. I was back in time for kick off at 9:30 as normal, if I bit dazed and hungry.

Been out of sorts all day, mentally contrasting the two and trying to work out which is the best shape and colour for me. I've liked to think that I'd make a middling-good country kid if ever I had the chance. The chance sees me running back to the city and breathing a sigh of relief. Is that just because I'm happier with the familiar - would I breath a similar sigh of relief returning to my own rural corner if it was indeed my own corner that I had built around me? I don't think I'm so bothered about other cities. The answer I think, is that the Big Guy reckons Aberdeen will have to do me for the next little while. Here goes...