Fifteenth

Even if it had been possible to drink a barrel of red wine every night at home, we still could not escape reality or ourselves, yet there is always the element of addiction that can creep up on you like the most sinister stalker. We tried to confine our drinking to the weekend period only and not in ridiculous quantities, which ought to give the body time to recuperate – from Monday to Thursday.

I do worry about people who will not even have the occasional glass of alcohol, and their lives have almost a religious fervour surrounding them. I suppose there is some kind of balance to be found between excess and abstinence, but it is not an easy place to find.

Living in the flat near the river in York, not far from Jess’s original place, the only unwelcome caller we can regularly expect is flood water, particularly, though not exclusively, during the winter months. This last winter has been exceptionally dry, apart from some brief interludes of snowy weather, which would probably bring a smug smile to the face of Al Gore and other climate change activists, but are humans really more powerful than nature itself ? They should try living by the River Ouse when the brown water is almost up to the road deck on Skeldergate Bridge !

Our water companies are pushing for all older properties to have meters (matching new-builds), yet in many parts of the United Kingdom there is an abundance of water; if they are experiencing problems in the densely-populated London area and wider Southeast, then it must of course be the same everywhere. Our utilities have become too dominated by the profit motive, and a distorted picture is sometimes presented using global warming arguments.

When the floods do come in historic York, Wales, Carlisle, Gloucestershire or wherever - if all that water was harnessed, rather than left to cause misery then dissipate, we’d have plenty for all to enjoy, using a better network of reservoirs and long-distance pipes. Jess always tells me to get off my bloody soapbox when I start to get into another argument with myself on the subject of weather, transport or health.

It’s a joy to have a window looking over the river, and not to have a property on the ground floor ! Jess loves to throw open these barriers of thin glass and let the fresh air replace any damp and staleness that has accumulated over the winter months. This is our own moment of renewal after all the months of darkness; to see her face glowing, and more radiant than all the golden daffodils on the city walls.

‘I’m glad we chose this place’ she would say.

‘It’s good, and cheap.’

‘Always counting the pennies.’

‘What else would you expect from a true Yorkshireman ?’

‘Romance.’

This would be my cue to embrace her, like gathering-up a large bouquet of spring flowers from the wilderness meadows near Wheldrake Ings, as the roaming Derwent finally finds its way to the Ouse, Humber, and the sea.

Fourteenth

It seemed rather harsh to see the camels with their legs tied together at the overnight camp; I’m not sure if they have to do this to stop them wandering off in the vastness of the real desert, but our guides clearly regarded it as essential for their business, much closer to civilisation.

We had arrived in a clearing not far from the ocean, with two large, traditionally decorated tents, though no toilet facilities were visible, except for many bushes and small trees. We’re so spoilt in our so-called ‘civilised’ countries that we’ve almost forgotten how to crap in the woods, unless told how to do it on TV by a survival expert.

It was already approaching a glorious sunset over the Atlantic; and judging by the wonderful cooking smells our evening meal would not be far off. We exchanged a few polite words with our fellow travellers – a family from Staffordshire, and a couple of Australian nurses working in London. There hadn’t been a great deal of opportunity for conversation during the day as the camel train was strung out in a long line, but now we were obliged to make some superficial remarks.

We’d probably have to share one tent with the Aussie girls, while the other was occupied by the family of four; this made me slightly nervous because Jess was always complaining about my snoring. I could only hope that the long and uncomfortable day in the ‘saddle’ would mean that we all enjoyed a deep sleep of happy and exotic dreams.

‘I’m starving’ said Jess.

‘Me too. It shouldn’t be long.’

‘Looks like they’ve actually got some wine’ said one of the Aussies.

‘Different rules for tourists’ the other added.

I couldn’t help noticing they were both attractive women, probably in their mid-twenties, however both were smokers, which was a real turn-off for me – though it does keep the insects at bay. We hadn’t experienced any problems with mosquitoes or other creepy-crawlies, only the odd lizard disappearing rapidly over a wall.

It was no surprise to be presented with two large tagines of steaming food – one chicken and one vegetarian, along with some freshly baked flat bread, and some fruity local wine as an aid to digestion and means of blurring the edges of reality a little. We were excited that one of the guides had promised some magic tricks would follow the meal, which would perhaps include one of the colourful carpets we sat on taking a short flight around the dunes.

‘Nice red’ observed Jess.

‘It always tastes better with good food, and particularly in an environment like this.’

‘You almost sound like a wine expert.’

‘Very funny, you well know that I’m only interested in getting pissed.’

‘So long as you don’t offend the locals.’

‘Sadly, I don’t think there are enough bottles for that.’

It was properly dark as the food was cleared away, and the lantern light flickered on the gently billowing tent walls. Occasionally, a camel could be heard complaining in the distance, or the fire spitting sparks into the clear night sky of countless stars. The magic act began, and the effect of alcohol made the adults unsure of where reality began and ended, while the two young kids of the English family stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the cheerful guide performed his well-polished sleight of hand.

Second

I’d first met Jess speed dating at a bar in York, and was surprised when we actually reached another date. I remember the second occasion very well because we had a few bottles of the Moroccan Syrah: Tandem, which had a nice picture on the label of two people on a tandem, with a large palm tree in the background.

Inevitably, the medium-bodied red wine had relaxed us both, and our conversation became much freer and eventually hysterical. It was at that specific point I realised just how long it had been since I’d shared that kind of laughter with another person.

‘I’d love to visit Morocco’ she’d said.

‘I’ve never been to Africa; India yes, but that’s a completely different ball game.’

At that time neither of us were thinking seriously about travelling – Jess was engrossed in her work at the University, and I didn’t have enough for a plane ticket. Still, it was good to dream of exotic souks and uninterrupted desert landscapes; and while the wine still flowed there was always hope of further intimacy – to put it politely.

Our relationship developed quite quickly after that, and there always seemed to be plenty of alcohol around, and we didn’t listen much to any health-related messages coming from our esteemed Government. We were just a fairly young couple wanting to live life to the full, and falling in love at the same time.