On The Road

Before I show you the rest of the England photos, how about a quick Provençal interlude?

BB and I are just back from our first mother-son road trip (the first that he will have any chance of remembering, in any case...). I had mixed feelings about the trip beforehand - apart from one lunchtime visit to friends in Marseille, it literally would be just him and me - but as happens so often these days, I decided to take the plunge anyway.
He's just turned 3 after all. On Friday he will start school ("maternelle"). A mother-son road trip is not on every parent's "rite of passage" agenda, but it happens to feature on mine, so Sunday morning, with cheery waves to Papa and LB, off we set.

Any apprehension I had was dispelled pretty quickly.
Being on the road with Mum, discovering a new place together, sleeping side by side in a quaint hotel by the sea... All of this seemed only to make BB grow in stature and heart-breaking maturity.
I looked on tenderly as moments that may well have triggered tantrums under normal circumstances (an ice-cream refusal... a particularly violent wind...) were borne with a tight lip and a real, visible effort to "be brave".
Mostly, it was about balance. Sometimes, we were buddies. And occasionnally, something intangible would shift, and he would become a mischievious 3 year old, and I would revert to Mum.
Travelling alone with a child, however, brought me a whole heap of wonderful moments that solo - or even family travel - could not.
For three days, I experienced the world from BB's perspective.
The details a 3 year-old picks up on are not necessarily those that strike an adult, so (somewhat bemusingly), while I might be pointing out a beautiful sweep of pine trees, or a breathtaking view of the bay... he would be exclaiming over the presence of a wheelie bin, or (usually) some kind of power drill.

Add to that the adorable gestures. The time he stopped dead in his tracks on the street, stooped down to pick something up off the ground and squealed "Maman! Look! A heart!"
What he'd found was a flimsy red paper heart - most probably cast-off confetti from a recent wedding - and he pocketed it preciously and held on to it for the rest of the holiday.

If our road trip were to have a soundtrack, it would be "80s pop classics".
Papa Don't Preach... Always on my mind (Pet Shop Boys version)... these are the tunes that played in the background of the local café where we breakfasted in the morning.
We smiled across at each other over coffee, juice and two greasy croissants, and I thought "at this precise moment, and maybe only for a few minutes, my childhood and his are combined."
Surreal, sublime, perfect.