Amy and I go on holiday in less than five weeks. I can't believe it's come round so quickly. I haven't bought very much in the way of summer clothes this time as haven't really needed to due to the amount of new items I bought last year for our fortnight in Kos. We've chosen Cyprus this year, a place I've been to a few times. I dare say I'm ready for a holiday, who isn't, but this one is going to be spent doing an awful lot of thinking and pondering of my future. Two weeks on a sun lounger in heat that not many of us can stand, a glistening pool just yards away and a golden sandy beach at my disposal will be cause for relaxation I'm sure. So many years in my life have been compared to a roller-coaster ride, but this one in particular has found me waiting at the top of the incline, pondering the drop.
It's harvest time soon. How I used to love those days. Tearing round the fields on a quad bike, dodging straw bales, watching four excited collies jump from one bale to the other. Once upon a time the land used to come alive with workers in the fields, roaring up and down in a combine or a tractor before they'd stop for tea in a flask and a homemade scone. We would chat and admire the yield, laugh about the banter on the CB radios, then the wives would hop back on the quad bikes with empty flasks and crumb-laden Tupperware whilst the farmers would climb back into their monster-machines to continue the hard labour that harvest warrants.
Those days are gone.
They ceased a few years ago.
I'm not sure whether I ever really did fit in to the ideal of being a farmer's wife.