Or: Heading To The Old Country

We’re leaving the kids at home and heading off on our holidays. Two weeks (and a bit) in England, on a long planned but late executed return to my roots. It was supposed to be a sixtieth birthday excursion, but we’re five years late. No matter.

The plan is to spend a week in Yorkshire, among the bones of my long-dead relatives, then to unwind in the great metropolis that is London, for a week. It turns out that I shall again be among the bones of my long-dead relatives because I have recently discovered a whole branch of the family who made it to London in the mid-nineteenth century, living, working, and dying, in places I know well. Not that we shall dwell too much on past family in either Leeds or London, because there is much more to do than sink into family history.

We will also be making a short stop in Plymouth, home to the living relatives of the good Mrs. Mayne, and will be looking forward to meeting Storm Ciarán, which is currently ravaging the west of the country. Fun, fun, fun.

I’ll use this blog to record the trip, more for my own benefit, and when I get back I might just publish a little more widely. Who knows?

Anyway, the first part of the multi-modal trip is about to begin, a drive up the notorious Highway 401, to the airport in Toronto. I’m wishing myself a happy bon voyage.