Wind in the Willies

I’ve been on my holidays. I flew from London to Cork and back again and Rescue Remedy, that herbal helper for the heebie geebies, is still coursing through my veins. On the outward flight I did away with the sissy little dropper and sploshed it straight into my mouth for faster results. I was in crisis. Flysis, actually.

That stuff must have worked because I managed to keep my fear of flying/claustrophobia emotions in check and didn’t lash out at the guy sitting in front of me on the plane who tilted his chair so far back that his head was my lap in a kind of patient/dentist arrangement. His head pinned me to my seat and stopped me making a break for the emergency exit in panic and bringing everyone down with me, so it wasn’t all bad. But he did have a lot of sour smelling scurf in his hair.

We stayed in a hotel that gave us free fluffy white robes and honey and cream with our porridge in the morning and there was a treatment room where I could have been wrapped in seaweed and massaged with warm geranium oils. But I was with my Iron Man of a husband who issued me with a bright orange poncho and walking boots and made me visit famine cottages and forts and his aunt’s house where the sow sleeps stretched out in front of the fire.

Then he took me to Banna beach where without warning he stripped off and ran into the sub zero temperature atlantic breakers because apparently the wilds had called him and his forefathers would have if they could have. He ran naked back into my arms because I was holding up his camoflauge patterned army poncho to protect his modesty, thinking he could dry off and get dressed beneath it.

Why I worried about protecting his modesty when even the seagulls were somewhere warmer that afternoon, I don’t know. But it didn’t go to plan. The bitter winds  twisted the poncho as he slipped his head into it so that the hood covered his face and stuck to it. Another gust lifted the poncho hem so his tackle was fully exposed to the elements. Imagine an umbrella blowing inside out, if the handle had a willy. The things you see when you haven’t got a gun. Or a camera. 

He and I were away for just three days but it felt like three weeks because we had such a wonderful and restful time. We did the Slea Head drive which is like doing a tour of heaven in a rented Vauxhall Corsa.

On the way home there was an hour’s delay on our flight into Heathrow and the two of us sat away from the crowd on the floor of the departure lounge at Cork airport and chatted. We made one another laugh so hard that we cried. I first met him 35 years ago and he’s hunkier, kinder and funnier than I could ever have dreamed. More than LOVE him.

2 comments to Wind in the Willies

  • Debbie Mohess

    Your bit on Rescue Remedy really made me laugh – you would think that Dr Bach’s people would just not bother with the little dropper as I don’t think many people use it.

  • As a huge fan of the comfort and ease of movement through Cork Airport. Your story about ‘making the most of’ sitting on the floor of the departure lounge really made me laugh!