Perfect Moments - Coming Home

I am a lucky fella. Born to two excellent parents, and as a result of this; brought up both with - in my humble opinion - a good education, and good morals. Throughout school and university, all my family, and particularly Mum and Dad, were there to encourage me to find my way. For this I will always be grateful. That said, these 'brunging up' years, although exciting, were also in a lot of ways, formulaic. The primary school-secondary school-higher education process was something which all my (five) siblings had done before me; and as a result, at no point did I so much as question whether I would do the same; I just did!
Let me stress here that this is not a gripe, far from it. There was an immense sense of comfort, imperceptible at the time, which comes from 'knowing what comes next'; the only dilemma being which subjects to choose, and which to drop (for example - ART in third year secondary school; dropped like a hot potato when my report from Herbie Hancock diplomatically said 'tries hard but has limited ability'; but I think we all know what the teacher translation is for that don't we?!). Sooner or later, the line which everyone follows, ends; and you are in total control of how it continues. My first bona fide, totally independent act is the subject of this post.......

In my final couple of weeks at university, I noticed a sign posted in the wardens office for a 12 week job in Brittany, walking for a working company (hang on.........!!). The business offered people accommodation, meals, and a 12 mile-ish walk around the beautiful french countryside every day of their stay. I thought the job was made for me......
Ironing - I had watched my Mum do it many times; how hard can it be??
Cooking - I had watched my Mum do it many times; how hard can it be??
Popping down to the bakers on a bike to pick up the daily bread - I can't ride a bike
Walking.....(now that I can do!!)....12 miles every day.......(oh crap)
Anyway, notwithstanding my slight divergence from the ideal candidate, I thought I would apply; and by some miracle - along with a kind word from the warden, whose sister owned the business - I was in!
Graduation came and went, and as the job's start date approached, I for the first time started to think about what I was signing up for. It was all my idea, and I was purposefully pushing myself out of my comfort zone. Foreign country, on my own, and not on holiday! At no point did I ever consider backing out of the job - although I probably could have done - but I do recall a quiet mantra of 'whatamidoingwhatamidoingwhatamidoingwhatamidoingwhatamaidoing.....' whizzing through my head as I boarded the train, and as I boarded the ferry. Watching the English coastline fade from site, it felt like I was going to the other side of the world.
The events of the proceeding three months are too numerous to mention, but suffice it to say I found something within myself, and got well and truly stuck in. I found that ironing wasn't as much of a mystery as I thought, I found the wonderful cookery aid known as....RECIPES, I found that I could handle the regular walks, and I found that not all of Mrs. Rayburn's french lessons had been consigned to the mental equivalent of the cutting room floor (I salute you madam)! Some particular highlights....

• Finding out that the couple who owned the business were getting divorced, and the lady-boss was living with a french dairy farmer - in the same house as her estranged husband, and me - called Michel, who made a stunning Moules Marinieres, and looked exactly like Freddie Mercury.
• Asking for 'les timbres pour envoyer six cartes postales a Angleterre', without having to look into my French phrasebook
• Having the unique role of 'person who carries the milk from the dairy shed, to pour into the pasteurising vat' when I wasn't working back at the house
• Feeling super-fit
• The guests'; every week a different bunch, but all of them lovely people. I think the highlight was Carl and Lois from Canada; they were terrific, particularly Carl. On getting up from the breakfast table every morning, he would announce to no one in particular, with a wipe of his mouth on a napkin 'Well.........that was breakfast!!' I have no idea why I found it so amusing. I also have to confess that with a name like Carl, and a wife called Lois, I kept wanting to call him Clarke! (any Superman fans in the house??)
• Special mention to the lady who came on every single walk, just 3 months after she had both hips replaced.
• Using the word 'surtout' in French (especially), it felt brilliant!
• The bosses presenting me with a birthday lemon mousse; candle on and everything!
• Being given the honour of sitting with the guests on my final week, instead of playing waiter
• The quite stunning Brittany scenery, and in particular Cap Frehel; a castle revealed in all its glory when we walked round a coastal bend.
• Managing to get just enough radio signal to get Radio 5 live, and hear Europe win the Ryder Cup.
• Eating Weetabix with warm milk, as fresh as it can possibly be!!

When my twelve weeks were up, and I boarded the ferry for home, my mantra was a very different... 'ivbloodydoneitivbloodydoneitivbloodydoneitivbloodydoneitivbloodydoneit.....!' Standing at the back of the ship, looking at St. Malo disappearing into the horizon, I marvelled at time; I felt that none had elapsed since I was in that same position saying goodbye to Portsmouth, then when I thought about the last three months and all that I had done and achieved, it felt like a lifetime.
I was proud of myself; what's more is that it was a personal pride, a secret pride. So many people were impressed at what I had done, but only I knew just how important it was to me to have seen it through. Like so many things - maybe all things - it doesn't really matter what other people think, the real truth about your life can only be told, by you.  Standing on that ferry, heading home........perfect.
I learned a lot from that trip, and much of it I have taken with me through my life; but none more important than the lesson that whatever your situation, no matter in how small a way; you should never stop challenging yourself, when deep down you know that it is worth it (tying in with this blog, this thing ain't just thrown together you know?!!).
I have never gone back to Brittany - to be honest I have not, for some time, been in any shape to do 12 mile coastal walks - but I most definitely will. Oooooh, I think I may have just found my ultimate end prize after the London Marathon; now that would be something to look forward to!