|(The Lowp Click image to enlarge.)|
It was October, and I was 30 years old. I was returning to the U.K. to visit my dear friends, Angela, in Glasgow, and Jen, in the south of England.
Sitting on the plane at the Toronto airport, I was waiting to see who I would get stuck seated beside. I dreaded some creepy man, or worse, an annoying kid who would spend the next six hours pestering me when all I wanted was a nap.
So, I'm sitting there, in my track-pants, with my horn-rimmed glasses on - schlepping for comfort, when lo and behold, a vision of beauty comes through the doorway at the front of the plane, and he's coming towards me!
I'm thinking: No way, is he going to stop here; he's just going to keep on to the back of the plane, but NO, he DOES stop, and he asks me (with this gorgeous Scots accent) "Would ye mind if I sat next to you?"
Would I MIND?
Well, let's just say that six hours felt more like two. I'll call him "Mr.Scot". He was 9 years my junior, but we got on like a house on fire! He had been on a student exchange in London, Ontario and was returning home to do a stint in the British Army. I was smitten and didn't want that flight to end!
After landing at Prestwick Airport, Mr. Scot handed me his phone number and told me to call when I came back up before flying home (I was expecting to be back in the Glasgow area for about three days).
I had a wonderful holiday with my friends, both north and south, but in the back of my mind, I wondered if I would really connect with Mr. Scot again.
I rang him up from Jen's house in Brockenhurst, and I remember her red phone reminded me of the Bat-phone in Commisioner Gordon's office on the Batman T.V. show. And the ring at the other end of the line was reminiscent of that too - a double pulsing tone, nothing like what we had back in Canada.
Mr. Scot's brother answered the phone, but it was only seconds before he was on the line, offering to meet me at the bus station in Glasgow when I arrived. I was palpably excited.
The next couple of days are almost a blur of activity and fairy-tale romance. I got to climb the hills outside of Loch Lomond, I rode an All Terrain Vehicle through a sheep field, and I swam in the "lowp". "Lowp" means "leap" in Scots Gaelic, but at the time, I thought it was the word for a pool of water. No matter, it was a bathing experience I will never forget. Nor will I ever forget Mr. Scot.
A drive along the winding roads outside Glasgow, a farmhouse, Chinese take-away, "Leningrad Cowboys Go America" and a few minutes of "Pretty Woman" are all I can recall (or will admit to).
We went our separate ways, I back to my home and work in Canada ( I cried all the way home), and Mr. Scot on to his tour of duty and back to the arms of his Spanish girlfriend (I found that out later).
Still, I can't fault him - we had a chemistry that couldn't be denied and we had a once-in-a-lifetime spree.
I wish him well, wherever he may be.
|In the lowp|
|Adding a rock to the cairn.|
Visit the Sepia Saturday blog where you will find admirable takes on the following image, selected by myself, but which in no way made it easy for me.