Short breaks and short lives

It’s been another rough week. Both Ka and myself have felt down, depressed and rather grumpy, our thoughts dwelling on our recent loss again, our moods spiralling up and down, like an demented rollercoaster.
Ka is now back at work, full time, and finding it all quite difficult to get back into the routine of things. Ka is strong though, not to mention stubborn and determined. Her boss is being excellent in offering her as much help and support as she needs but Ka is stubbornly getting on with things. As horrible as it is to say, life must go on, something both Ka and myself understand and have to get on with, whilst at the same time, never forgetting.
Arriving home on Friday night cheered us up a little though as waiting for us, on the hall carpet, were our holiday tickets. We booked a week away in May online, last week, with the idea of a beach holiday. A short break. An effort to cheer ourselves up, to some extent. We had not been a quiet beach holiday since back in 2007 when we went to Turkey. Even our honeymoon in 2009 seemed hectic at times, as we toured Rome and Venice. So we wanted a definite break. Somewhere we could go to chill out, get away from work, walk around where no one would know us and just generally get away from it all on a relaxed, calm, restful beach holiday.
We ended up booking a week in Ibiza. Not exactly the first place you think of when you hear the words ‘restful’, ‘calm’ or ‘relaxed’. In fact, I’m sure Ibiza has cropped up on more than a few of those television programmes which show British tourists wobbling around foreign streets, slurring their words, starting fights with their pants round their ankles. Hopefully we’ll be a safe distance from any of that shenanigans though…at least ‘the pants round the ankles’ crowds anyway.
We’re staying in a hotel in San Antonio, a good 20 minutes drive outside Ibiza town, so we do have the option for a clubbing night out if we’re feeling lively enough. It’s still pre-season in May, so it will probably still be pretty calm. Well, calm until Ka and myself get a couple of cocktails down us and then head out to Pacha to get involved, donning our shades, luminous shorts and glow sticks, starting the season off ourselves. Whatever happens, it’ll just be good to get away, even if it is only just for a week.
Something else to look forward to is the return of Doctor Who, back on our screens tonight. My inner geek, and my outer geek for that matter, rejoices. Not that I’ll be in (I’ll be out and about) but hopefully it’ll be on the iPlayer by the time I get round to watching it tomorrow (or late tonight depending on whether I’m allowed!).

It was sad to hear of the death of Lis Sladen, during the week. The Sarah Jane Smith. The Doctor’s greatest companion, whom he mat back in 1973, in his third incarnation, the great Jon Pertwee. Obviously I wasn’t around back in 1973, but on becoming the Doctor Who and sci-fi geek that I became, soon caught up with past events. Even though Sarah Jane hadn’t been in the show continuously when I was a kid, I always remember knowing who she was whenever she cropped up.
Sarah Jane set the benchmark for all female companions to follow, making them all stronger, tougher, more rounded, realistic characters, not to mention the fact she was fairly fanciable in her younger years.
My inner geek waved another accusing fist up at the heavens when I watched the news reports on Tuesday and it has only been a few months since the great Brigadier Lethbridge Stewart, Nicholas Courtney, passed away. Another brilliant companion of the Doc’s from around the same time, and like Sarah Jane Smith, popped up on more than one occasion throughout the show’s history to aid the Doctor in battle against another nasty alien threat.
Sladen was only 63 but had been ill with cancer. I couldn’t believe she was 63, never mind ill.
News today has also broke of John Sullivan’s death. The creator of Only Fools and Horses, another absolute classic and another of my favourites. Sullivan was surely a comedy writing genius of our time? He was only 64?! That’s nothing!
Irreplaceable, both of them. The Doctor’s greatest companion and the man that created Delboy and Rodney.
Another thirty years and I’ll be the same age. Will the next thirty go as quickly as the last thirty? I may not even last that long!
Sorry, getting depressed again…

“The universe has to move forward. Pain and loss, they define us as much as happiness or love. Whether it's a world, or a relationship… Everything has its time. And everything ends”.
Sarah Jane Smith

Father Gaffney and the video nasty

Thankfully Auntie Patricia held back the tears at the weekend when we all settled down to watch the wedding video that my Uncle Tommy had been spending the week working on. Apparently Tommy had plugged the camcorder into the tv on the Sunday after the wedding and had Tricia and my other Aunt, Ann, who had had been visiting from London for the occasion, both in tears as they watched what he had recorded. Personally, I'm not sure I believe them and think they may have been exaggerating a little. My mum and her sisters were born in the Gorbals which makes me believe it must take a hell of a lot for them to shed any form of tear. Thanks to Tommy though, the wedding now exists in televisual format to help us remember our special day (I certainly hope I never wake up one morning and wonder who this female is that I'm living with). Of course, it also exists for women to cry and gossip over which is what will probably happen next week when Ka's female friends all pop round to the flat for a viewing. I very much doubt I shall hold such an occasion especially since my brother, the best man of the piece, turned down his invite to the BBQ/film showing on Saturday night describing it as a video nasty. Thankfully it was not so nasty, except from the fact that I looked as if I had a bean pole stuck up my arse as I spent the whole time in the church standing straight and rigid with a look of extreme seriousness on my face, seemingly unable to move without some great difficulty. Kenneth laughed, Ka cried, Angela cried and laughed and the priest, a rather entertaining Father Gaffney, forgot my name, at least twice. He even called the ceremony a baptism at one point. In fact, I'm sure Father Gaffney may well require the video to remember the day more than the rest of us.
Ka picked up the phone to him on Monday night and he asked her how the holiday in Paris went. Paris was great thanks but that was two years ago now - we were in Rome and Venice for our honeymoon! Father Gaffney would no doubt have took a trip at one point to go and see the Pope? I wonder at what point it was climbing up the Eiffel Tower that he realised..?

Well, I'm back

Well, back to reality. A slightly different, married reality that is.
Ka and myself got back from our Italian honeymoon trip late on Tuesday night arriving back in Glasgow Airport, greeted by the rain and a grumpy bus driver to take us back to the airport car park. That morning we had been leaning back in a gondola, basking in the italian sunshine, watching the small streets and large buildings of Venice slide by on our way down the Grand Canal. It's now Thursday and it all already seems so long ago. Venice was a fantastic little city and truly one of a kind, probably for obvious reasons. Apparently July and August are it's busiest months with us tourists and you could easily tell that as you walked down the tightly packed streets but it did not take away from the city's beauty. On our first night we got lost in the streets trying to make sense of the nonsense map the hotel had given us and ended up walking nearly the whole circumference of the main islands but by the third day we had the place sussed and were soon coasting along from St. Mark's Square to the Rialto bridge with ease.
Before Venice we had been in Rome for four days exploring another fantastic Italian city - probably THE main Italian city. The Colosseum, the arch of Constantine, the Vatican City, the Pantheon, the Trevi Fountain, the Terrace of the Quadrigas, the Spanish Steps, just a few of the sights and buildings we seen, explored, climbed or generally walked around in with our jaws hanging open.
Of course, before all this was the Big Day. July the fourth flew by in a whirl of ceremony, cars, photographers, eating, speeches, dancers and drinking. The day kicking off at St. Leonards Church in East Kilbride and then continuing at House for an Art Lover in Glasgow's Bellahouston Park which, thankfully, was not playing host to the local orange walks of that day as had been previously feared. The happiest, most wonderful and memorable day of my life and I took the grand total of two photographs. So it would seem Ka and myself are pretty much relying on everyone else copying some snaps for us to go with the professionals' efforts which we have yet to view. Probably the most arduous task of the day was posing for all those photographs, more so that the dreaded thank you speech - which I, perhaps unwisely, had not planned, penned or practised in any way shape or form. Kenny done very well with his speech though, as did the father in law, Dougie. In fact, the day went swimmingly thanks to everyone involved including all our fantastic guests, family and friends. So if any of you are reading out there, Ka and myself would just like to shout out yet another big thank you to you all. Here's to married life!