XLII
Created | Updated Jan 26, 2025
XLII
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I've written about the last time I saw my best friend from school in my old Najopomo journal entries. Australia was a bloody long way away.
Two long-haired, fledgling biker, teenagers swore an oath that night: one fine day, we'd meet again.
I've mentioned we managed to keep in touch over four decades, always planning a fabled reunion, but family, health, work, money, something always dashed those plans on the rocks of real life.
We secretly, sadly, admitted to ourselves that we'd probably never see each other again.
So I was delighted when I received a message, asking if 'I fancied meeting up for a pint,' as he'd escaped Australia and was heading 'up near me.'
Jumping at the chance, I agreed, anywhere mate, just let me know when and where he'd be. . .
. . . Erm, Rome. Italy. Just after New Year. During a British snowstorm.
A mad, seemingly impossible, hunt to find cheap flights and accommodation during the busiest holiday season and a 25-year jubilee celebration around the Vatican and Rome. The travel gods (or maybe the Christian newcomers?) smiled upon us after hours of scrambling through travel sights. (OK, my wife did all the scrambling, as usual. Thanks, my love.)
Second of January, night shifts whilst the rest of the world partied, I managed to get injured at work, re-tearing an already work-damaged muscle in my back. No doctors' appointments available, offered physio. . . in March!
Ho hum. At least it kept me out of the freezing fog that had covered most of our region all week!
No way was I missing our Roman Holiday, so I offered a prayer to the gods of health and old age, and stuffed my bag with painkillers and heat rubs.
Day before. Snow. A lot of snow for us. (Snow that even the Ed would be forced to admit was pretty snowy!)
Motorways closed, trains and buses cancelled . . . and. . . .gulp. . . thousands of planes grounded.
News reports: airport chaos due to frozen runways, snowy runways, flooded runways, and the bloody freezing fog that had seemingly decided to move to the Northwest on a permanent basis.
No way was I missing our Roman Holiday, so I offered a prayer to the weather gods, and packed the car with emergency supplies, and a shovel, just in case.
Day of travel.
Stupid o'clock. More snow. An early morning frozen, painfully slow, crawl up the M56 motorway.
Windscreen washers and wipers freezing ten miles from Manchester, pulling over and scrubbing the grit off the glass with snow from the lay by. Crawling ever closer to the airport.
My wife's phone pinging with travel alerts as I squinted through the fog and snow to find the car park.
Terminal 1, 2 and 4, flights cancelled or hugely delayed. Terminal 3, delay, delay, delay, cancelled... prayers to the sky gods. What?...Rome...due to depart...on schedule!
Arriving at the tiny Ciampino airport. A short bus ride into the city. A short (we were truly ripped off!) taxi ride to the hotel.
My wife suggested that we go straight up to the rooftop bar and have a drink after such a mad journey.
Must've been really mad, she's not a huge drinker, and usually opts for a cup of tea and a sit down after a flight, but she insisted we go up on the roof!
The view was stunning, the Roman gods offering us a glimpse of the historical splendour to come.
Better still, standing at the balcony, enjoying the view, thanking the Australian gods for a safe journey, waiting for us, my old friend.
Forty-two years melted away instantly. Like we'd never parted!
A few days enjoying the city, wives hitting it off instantly, a proper, face to face catch-up, chatting all day and long into the night.
A truly wonderful city. Wonderful sights, wonderful food and drink, wonderful people, too.
Most of all, shared with wonderful friends!
All too soon we parted again. Unlike our teenage selves, we were not ashamed to let the tears flow.
Two aging bikers (and this time, our wives) swearing an emotional oath that we'd see each other at least one more time before we met the gods.
So, if we're true to form, and the biker gods pull a few strings, 2067 should be a hoot, but maybe we'll plan for a summer meet up, 42 years from now!
