- Angela Costigan
It would seem, dear friends, that my internet woes are behind me. Because here I am.
Yes, the new telco may have given us someone else's current landline AND recorded the wrong address and mobile numbers for us AND delivered our TV box to the people residing in our old house...BUT at least we can once again connect like normal, first world folk.
So let's begin. Or continue, as it were.
Now, a little while ago, I promised that we would clasp hands and skip down my memory lane, admiring all the wonders that are ''Books I Adore'. We shall still do this. I promise.
However, our trip cannot begin until the first book in my bloggie series arrives via snail-mail. So until then, we will not meander down my memory lane but instead, we shall take a slight detour...
Alright, a rather large detour. Of nearly 17,000kms in fact. Bringing us to London and my 'heartland' - Edinburgh.
Only a few weeks back, my little family and I went to the UK for Christmas.
Oh how marvellous.
It does sound rather fancy doesn't it? For the sake of maintaining interest, we'll skip over the logistics of how that trip came into being (bread and water for a year, may or may not have played a part) and cut straight to the miraculous marvellousness of the occasion.
You see, I love Edinburgh. No. I AM Edinburgh. It's as if some universal presence looked into my soul, found all that is dear to me, and then sprinkled pieces of it throughout the one city. It had been 12 years since I'd lived there, but it had never left me. For 12 years I thought about that city every day. And on that glorious afternoon in December, when the train from London pulled alongside the castle on the hill - I, along with 6 suitcases, 2 strollers, 2 cranky children and a world-weary husband - was home.
And because life can be nothing but perfect in this wintry wonderland, we of course found an Airbnb place 10 doors down from where we used to live. And it snowed. Twice. Once on Christmas night and again on my blessed 'day off', where I spent hours wandering amongst bookstores, thumbing through papery perfection. With bags full of books and snowflakes in my hair, I weaved through graveyards and cafes and spires and steeples, grinning like the Cheshire Cat and weeping like a baby.
Each night, after the family had gone to bed, I would stand in the moonlit shadows of the living room, looking out across the meadows and endless night sky and I'd be shaking with gratitude.
Edinburgh is so inspirational and so beautiful that whilst there you are compelled to write, sing, dance, paint - CREATE. There is so much pride in that city. So much love. It exudes from the tallest turrets and flows down the cobblestone streets, seeping into every corner, nook and cranny. I have never heard of anyone who didn't love Edinburgh. Except some Londoners. But we'll leave that there.
So as you can see, I'm just a little bit in love. And now that we've left, I'm just a little bit sad.
But I know we'll be back, and maybe next time, when I wander through those bookstores on a snowy winter's day, I might just find some little darling curled up in a corner, reading my own piece of papery picture book perfection...