Monday 13 February 2012

To the other side of the world

We are going on a journey, to the other side of the world. It is far to the other side of the world. We load the car with: nappies, scooters, a buggy, a pink blanket, peanut butter sandwiches, baby food, wipes, rice crackers, nappy bags, clementines, a camera, clean pants, hats, scarves, mittens, crayons, colouring books, a dummy, another dummy and a final spare dummy. We stuff it all in rucksacks. It is far to the other side of the world. We park the car at the station. In the train we jump on benches, stare out the window at cranes, and passing trains. We wobble through the rattling and rumbling train, further and further south. We get off, but we aren’t there yet. It is far to the other side of the world. We get in a different train, an underground one. We tear through dark tunnels, our noses flat against the window so we can see the black. We get out, but we aren’t there yet. It is far to the other side of the world.
We cross a bridge, onto a pier. We board a boat. Through the window we look at the giant wheel we pass. The Big Ben, the London Bridge and the Tower. The museum in the electricity plant. The shard and the gherkin. The highest building with the triangle on top. We eat our peanut butter sandwiches and drink hot tea with milk. We disembark, but we aren’t there yet. It is far to the other side of the world.

We walk, scoot and ride on. We puff and toil up the hill, until we reach our destination. There, across that line, the other side of the world starts. The line, the meridian that separates east from west, is the middle of the world. We dodge the Japanese queuing for a picture on the line and, a little bit further on, we stand, with one foot in the east and one in the west. We rest a bit. We see the museum. We peel a clementine. Then we start our journey home.

We race, rush and zoom down the hill. We walk past the pubs to the station and climb the docklands train. One station on, we alight, under construction, closed. We roll up, on escalators, and in a lift, up to the bus. We stuff in the bus, us, and many more, till it is more than full. Between piercing elbows we shake asleep, on laps and in buggies, until the flow takes us out, into a new, underground, train. Sleeping, dreaming, and staring at the dark we let the train take us north. We get off but we aren’t there yet. Home is far away.

A new train takes us to our car, and then, finally we are home and in our beds. It was a long journey to the other side of the world, and back. It was a beautiful day.

Life’s a journey, not a destination. You'd better enjoy the trip!


  1. Beautiful. And you're so right - life is all about the journey. Too often we forget that.

  2. I know, kids are so good at that though. For them the highlight of a trip is usually the train journey!

  3. It is the best thing about having children that we can see the world fresh through their eyes. Sometimes we're too busy to appreciate things.

    Thanks for linking to Blogaholics