Here’s hoping these staycations stop me going stir crazy
BY rights, I should still be nursing the annual hangover from Unison Race Day in Doncaster.
It’s a great day out, the big event in our social calendar for the past decade.
But like everything else, it was swept away by the coronavirus. They raced at Goodwood and Newmarket, but there was no gathering of public service union sisters and brothers in Donny.
It was the same story with my planned trip to Greece, the long weekend in Filey and the family get-together in Pickering in
High Mill by the North Yorkshire Moors steam railway.
All scythed by the grim Covid-19 reaper. Still, the staycation industry is up and running again, and we have a weekend in Leyburn, Wensleydale to look forward to.
And in September, seven days in Calder Vale, in Lancashire’s Forest of Bowland.
Hardly the holidays of a lifetime, but they will be welcome breaks from the four walls of this tiny office. I’ll still be writing.
Having lived in a high-rise flat, I feel sorry for those like my granddaughter Katy in Sheffield, who haven’t been able to get away – or even out – for more than four months. As the summer wears away fruitlessly, it’s hard not to long for the bygone days when we were free to travel.
The joy of Japan. The madness of Brazil, off the map for the rest of my life.
The long drive (by Mrs R, not me) from Melbourne to Sydney, via Bateman’s Bay, Ulladulla and Ninety Mile Beach, before she did an illegal U-turn on the famous Harbour Bridge.
Will my grandchildren and their children be able to see the world? I truly hope so, as it’s a bigger, more rewarding, adventure than any staycation. But they’ll do for now.