when it might have been a braw, bricht, moonlicht nicht the nicht

In those mid-teen years I had one of those last holidays as a family unit with parents and my younger brother. We were holidaying on the Isle of Skye, the largest island of the Inner Hebrides and it was the closest me and my brother had ever been to the far north of the UK. The island has mile upon mile of intricately meandering shorelines which reach out into the edges of the wild open of the Atlantic Ocean. And in venturing northwards we were travelling to a latitude equal to that of southern Norway, where summer days were longer and nights shorter than the rest of Britain. Our Dad a Geography teacher made sure that these facts-were-told, though we were were beginning to realise we could be more selective with what we chose to retain for our own minds.

The memories from that holiday are now mostly consigned to a few square faded instamatic photos..

Anita Mathias is a generous, poetic writer who blogs at Dreaming Beneath the Spires and most exciting she is pressing ahead to complete her memoir on an Indian Catholic Childhood this year. She is one of the tweeters I linked up at the beginning of my foray onto Twitter and I am honoured to be guest posting over at her place.

Head on over to Anita's to read the rest of the post