It’s been 21 years since Kathryn and I last took a holiday together – just the two of us.
Twenty-one years of devotion to our boys, of shaping their childhoods with memories, adventures and lessons that we hope will guide them well into adulthood.
We’ve done our best. We’re not wealthy, nor do we have a guardian angel looking over us, but we’ve had fun, laughter, adventures, open spaces, rugby pitches and the Atlantic coast on our door step – enough to keep us happy and occupied.
Being a father has been one of life’s greatest joys. And Kathryn … she has been nothing short of extraordinary. Always thinking, always caring, a steady, loving force who has made our family her world.
But after 21 years, it’s time for the two of us to be, well, just the two of us again. To step out of our roles as supporting actors and take the lead of our own stories once again.
Our holiday began spectacularly (miserably) when the van window fell out en route to the Portsmouth – Santander ferry, leaving us stranded in Southampton and rerouting our plans entirely.
We crawled back to Cornwall – angry and frustrated. But that quickly dissolved. We booked a ferry to Roscoff for the following day, ditched my van, loaded up Kathryn’s car and drove south through France instead.
We wandered through Sarlat-la-Canéda in the Dordogne, drifted southwest to Hossegor, Biarritz and St Jean de Luz, before the mountains of the Pyrenees became our home for a week. Our days have been simple: walking, resting, sleeping. Eating bread, cheese, soup, rice, pasta. We’ve lived humbly but felt rich with new experiences.
Next week, we’ll head into Spain – San Sebastián, Bilbao, Santander – before returning home, ready to dive back into our busy lives with renewed gusto.
What does it mean to be in love? It means everything. It means finding your other half and feeling whole. Sharing dreams, fears and quiet silences. Knowing that, no matter the chaos or the passing of years, you are truly cherished and understood for who you are and not in the slightest bit concerned about who or what you are not.
I feel lucky. And I feel profoundly, endlessly grateful.