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Welcome to todays diary entry! We did it. Finally. After what felt like the longest, slowest crawl of a week – we’re officially on holiday.
I swear, today at work went backwards. Time has never moved so slowly. The kind of day where you look at the clock, swear it must’ve been at least an hour, and it’s been… 11 minutes. It was like the universe was trying to make us earn every second of that time off. My brain was already halfway down the M5, sunglasses on, windows cracked open, humming some half-forgotten road trip playlist while eating snacks that technically count as dinner.
But we made it. And Lisa, bless her, was ready. She had the motorhome fully prepped and pointing in the right direction by 5pm on the dot. There’s something so satisfying about that feeling – the handover between the last obligation and the first breath of freedom. Rory (aka The Beef) was strapped in, his little face absolutely glowing. I think he could sense it too – that shift in energy, the lightness, the “we’re off!” buzz.
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Now, originally, the plan was to drive a few hours in the direction of Cofton – you know, make a head start, break the journey up a bit. But in true us fashion, we scrapped that about 20 minutes before departure. Instead, we took a detour. A very intentional, very joyful detour to Derby, to surprise our lovely friend Mel for her birthday.
Mel’s someone we met the very first time we went to Morocco. She’s one of those people who immediately feels like a permanent fixture – warm, open, full of sparkle and sass. We bonded quickly, and over the last few years, she’s become part of that strange but beautiful tapestry of friendships we’ve built on the road. People you don’t see for months, maybe even years, but when you do reconnect, it’s like no time has passed at all.
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She had no idea we were coming. We didn’t tell her. Just showed up on her doorstep – motorhome, toddler, and all. And the look on her face? Absolutely priceless. Mouth open, hand to her chest, full-body shock followed by the kind of laugh-cry you can’t fake. She just kept saying, “No way. NO WAY. You’re kidding me!” It was magic.
Especially seeing her reaction to Rory. I think if she could’ve picked him up and popped him in her pocket, she would’ve. She was beaming. We were all beaming. It was just one of those moments – simple but unforgettable.
I always used to deliver bread to Mel and her husband in Morocco. I’d be up early, wandering around with baguettes or warm flatbreads tucked under my arm, knocking on van doors like the most wholesome postman you’ve ever met. That was our thing. Mel would pop her head out, still in pyjamas, and we’d chat for five or ten minutes while the rest of the campsite slowly came to life. They were always so grateful – but really, I loved doing it. That early-morning stillness, the slow build of the day, the quiet friendships… it’s one of the parts of Morocco I miss most.
Now, one thing’s for sure – Mel can talk. I mean really talk. Like, if she were a podcast, she’d never hit pause. Her husband just laughs and shakes his head. We all know it. She knows it. But that’s part of the charm. She’s got a story for every occasion, a wild tangent ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice, and this wonderful ability to make everyone in the room feel like they belong in her world. It’s a skill, honestly. And once you settle in with a cuppa, there’s no place you’d rather be.
It may not have technically moved us much closer to Cofton – in fact, Derby only shaved thirty minutes off tomorrow’s drive – but that didn’t matter. The detour wasn’t about efficiency. It was about heart. About connection. About showing up for someone who made our Morocco experience all the richer, and letting Rory grow up knowing that this is what community looks like – showing up, surprising people, and making time for real connection even when it’s not the most convenient route.
So, here we are. First night of the holiday. Parked up in Derby, full bellies, tired eyes, hearts full. It’s not about where you start – it’s how you start. And this? This was the perfect beginning.
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