ANNE and TASH'S TRIP travel blog

Tashie at Chenonceaux

At Azay-le-Rideau


Gare de L'Est Paris

Captain Tash in Venice

The Somme

Pantheon Paris


Montmatre Metro




Ice Palace


Who would dry my shoes with a hair-dryer; pick me up when I fall flat on a country railway platform, a street in Firenze or a rain-sodden Dublin footpath; who would care; run me a hot perfumed bath; who would dial the numbers on the phone card to keep me in touch with home; lift my suitcase onto the train; be a one man band to remind and discuss our family so far away; spray spritz water into my tired and hot face; try to get me to see the places I want to see; run perfumed gel up and down my arms and across my back; spray "Kylie" over my travel battered clothing; check my email; interpret the instructions; guide me as I drove along the lane in the road with white letters emblazoned a metre high to point us to the destination; give me the nerves of steel to throw away the paperwork, the packaging, the maps, the used tickets; share the French and Italian food, the wine, the atmosphere; abhor the noisy night revellers; convert the dirhams to dollars; say to the uniformed Arabic guard, "That's my mum;" as he gestured me to leave the queue and go in a different direction; wait, wait, wait; share the pat-downs at airports; keep the deodorants up to speed; find the glass of water for the choking cough in the night; advise on the lipstick; help choose the gifts; lie sleepless when the noises in the night became intolerable; guide my footsteps over and round the land mines left by dogs, cows and sheep; play snowmen in the middle of a blizzard; marvel with me at the impossibly ancient monuments; explain who the singer was; what the actor did; what really happened in the movie; who was the boy's father; find the cup of tea; carry the heavy box to the post offices of far away countries; access the net to check bookings, to find routes, to confirm details; order the breakfast delivery, cancel the breakfast delivery, pour the orange juice; sit next to me at the restaurant, on the bus, on the train, in the plane, at the stopovers; find an exact replica of my drowned pedometer in an opticians' shop in Cahors; make me a cup of tea; check that the handbag was zipped up; share one ear of the ipod; approve the choice of the silk scarf; establish the mores of answering the door in a hotel on the other side of the world; organise the timetable; perform the countdown; find the airport toilets; look at the Customs' House in pouring rain and appreciate the sacrifice of the patriots; keep track of the taxation forms of the EU; chat to the nice people and expostulate about the insignificant negative service providers; make sure there are no bits between my teeth; the lip gloss was ok; express dismay at many of my actions but continue the love and gentle support?

Tashie would. Tashie did.

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