It was Christmas Eve and I was so excited to begin our adventure in England. We had forfeited buying a house in the rainforest and settling down together forever to do this, because we both thought we’d just die there and that would be that. I couldn’t wait for Mark to show me everything he loved about his home country, because on some level I already knew I had been here before, if not in another lifetime, in my dreams instead when I astral travelled to him as a child over and over before I was ten years old.
Nearly every night for years, I would just drift up into the air and effortlessly move my body like a ballerina, dancing over the chimneys and rooftops to a place far away, where snow covered the fields like icing on a Christmas cake and where my true love waited for me on a white horse amongst the ruins of an ancient castle. I dreamt of being veiled in layers and layers of white chiffon, floating in the wind, high up on a rocky cliff, somewhere overlooking the ocean. No matter how many times I went there in my dreams though, I could never see my true love’s face, or know his name, yet I could feel how it felt to be with him and that is where my favourite place would always be, overlooking the wild ocean somewhere under the stars together in total bliss. We would fly amongst the seagulls in the moonlight, as they soared across the sea, their cries reminding me that it was time to go home again. And I would. Yet I would always be sad when I awoke, because I would realize it was always all only ever a dream. Every night, I would will myself back to where the dream left off, but it never did and even today, the sound of seagulls always makes me feel the same way.
When we arrived at Heathrow Airport, Customs treated me like I was a high class drug dealer or something and thought that I just wanted to rip the system right off by staying in England to settle down. `What do you want here?`, I was asked. `Why are you here?`, `You can`t visit for six months?` and it went on until she went to her manager, soon to return and silently hand me my passport just saying say `You can enter, but you better leave before the six months is up`. So eventually I was allowed to go, provided that I promised to be back in Australia in six months time without working here. Welcome to England. I was so drained from the ordeal, that I just fell asleep in the car, whilst Mark managed to stay awake all the way to his hometown in Wolverhampton, four hours up the motorway without nodding off and took me straight to Marks and Spencer`s and bought me a winter coat and boots. How he did it I’ll never know, but that’s how he is. Always so strong. Dependable. Delicious.
Nearly every night for years, I would just drift up into the air and effortlessly move my body like a ballerina, dancing over the chimneys and rooftops to a place far away, where snow covered the fields like icing on a Christmas cake and where my true love waited for me on a white horse amongst the ruins of an ancient castle. I dreamt of being veiled in layers and layers of white chiffon, floating in the wind, high up on a rocky cliff, somewhere overlooking the ocean. No matter how many times I went there in my dreams though, I could never see my true love’s face, or know his name, yet I could feel how it felt to be with him and that is where my favourite place would always be, overlooking the wild ocean somewhere under the stars together in total bliss. We would fly amongst the seagulls in the moonlight, as they soared across the sea, their cries reminding me that it was time to go home again. And I would. Yet I would always be sad when I awoke, because I would realize it was always all only ever a dream. Every night, I would will myself back to where the dream left off, but it never did and even today, the sound of seagulls always makes me feel the same way.
When we arrived at Heathrow Airport, Customs treated me like I was a high class drug dealer or something and thought that I just wanted to rip the system right off by staying in England to settle down. `What do you want here?`, I was asked. `Why are you here?`, `You can`t visit for six months?` and it went on until she went to her manager, soon to return and silently hand me my passport just saying say `You can enter, but you better leave before the six months is up`. So eventually I was allowed to go, provided that I promised to be back in Australia in six months time without working here. Welcome to England. I was so drained from the ordeal, that I just fell asleep in the car, whilst Mark managed to stay awake all the way to his hometown in Wolverhampton, four hours up the motorway without nodding off and took me straight to Marks and Spencer`s and bought me a winter coat and boots. How he did it I’ll never know, but that’s how he is. Always so strong. Dependable. Delicious.
Mark + Claire xx