Goodbye to The Pink One

Day 26

So, Robyn, my niece, has gone home now but, true to form, she arrived wearing pink. We spent all of Friday night catching up with the family gossip, all of Saturday shopping, and all of today painting on silk and making greetings cards. I have definitely had a good 'girlie' fix and I am feeling much better for it, so thank you, Robs, my sweet girl.

It was nice to discuss one of my passions with someone - (interior design) - but I didn't realise how serious Robs was about it all, until she bought a ladder in an antique shop, to hang all her belts and scarves on. Very nice, very chic, and also very far away from her home in London.

Now here's the thing - she's going back on the train by herself, and her boyfriend only has a motorbike. And she brought lots of books and things down with her that she also has to carry back, and then I gave her her Dad's birthday present to take back as well.

So, we had stood in the middle of Green Street in Bath with her saying, "oh never mind, I'll leave it" and had turned to the left to go home, but then she'd said "but I really love it and I've been looking for one for ages" so we had turned to the right, and so on, and this went on a bit.

Then she said "Bev, help me make up my mind", "Will it be too difficult to get on the tube with?" and "Will I look an idiot carrying it?" So, I thought about it and what I thought was this.

When I was that age I went on holiday to Morocco, with my sister and my son Joe. I remember one particular early morning - we had to catch a bus from a tiny little village to take us through the Atlas Mountains at sunrise, to Marrakesh. We found we couldn't arrange a taxi for four in the morning, and so would have to walk the three miles or so to the bus stop. Then my sister got really bad holiday tummy and was hardly strong enough to walk, let alone carry anything, but we had to get to Marrakesh for the plane home.

So, there I was at four in the morning, wearing pyjamas c'os it was hot, with a huge rucksack on my back and a shoulder bag or two over each arm, carrying my sleeping five-year old, and supporting a groaning, white-faced sister with one arm, trying to get to the bus stop on time. (We made it, by the way, just in case you were worried).

And I thought, I'm really not the person to ask about looking stupid, and carrying heavy loads for long distances because I clearly have no perspective that's useful. But I helped her make up her mind anyway, and the ladder in now chuntering through Reading as I type this, and her boyfriend will meet her at the station without the bike, so It's happy endings all round.

As for the bus to Marrakesh, my son slept for the whole journey and my sister spent most of it with a flannel over her eyes, or head down in a carrier bag. But I watched a golden, glittering sunrise gallop across the mountains, illuminating the earth as if it was the very first day in the world, the bus screeching around hairpin bends, and dangling over precipitous drops. It was beyond fabulous, and I will never forget it. So even if it's difficult and you look stupid, do it girl, do it every time, is my advice.