Heathrow's Terminal 4 was packed full of people off on holiday and saying goodbye to loved ones. Unfortunately we were the latter. My little sister left for the grand old US of A this morning. A 10am flight. A miserable queue at check-in and a cup of coffee to the delay the goodbye. Even with the week of preparation I've had (she found out she was leaving last weekend), and a sobering coffee I still could not help but shed a few (aka quite a lot) of tears as she disappeared through security into the departure lounge, where only those with a boarding pass may enter. How I shall miss her mischievous grin and contagious laugh.
I had already cried twice by the point that her bouncing blonde hair disappeared without even a hesitant look back. First at a young couple, perhaps the same age as Frank and I, hugging and sobbing. He was leaving. And she, well she was beside herself. However, she managed to master the art of the beautiful cry. You know the one where the tears fall daintily down your cheeks, and leave mascara perfectly intact? I'm not sure whether I was crying because it was sad to watch (and I'm an emotional person) or whether it was through jealousy at the perfect soggy face?
Second, was a Daddy saying goodbye to his two little and beautiful girls hugging their Daddy's knees as he bent down to say goodbye, while Mummy stood next to them smiling fondly and holding back the ever impending tears. And what with today being Father's Day, I just fell apart. What a soppy cow.
Airports are very sad places when you're not the one jetting off... Unless of course you're stood along the security barrier in Arrivals, when secretly everyone is re-enacting the closing sequence of 'Love Actually'. Subconsciously you know that you do it, unless of course you have not yet seen the film... in which case, where have you been every Christmas?
I wish my little sister a fantastic three months. (Secretly I am very jealous, though I am sure she know's this really) In hindsight it's pretty wasted on here, because she'll be so busy teaching small American children how to compete at Wimbledon (she's a tennis coach) that she won't have the chance to read this and by the time she does she'll almost definitely be at home anyway. Never mind - the sentiment is there.
On a more trivial note, I have also said goodbye to a productive shopping trip. Yesterday, I ventured into the city to spend some lovely birthday money. Its always fantastic spending this because you cannot feel guilty. It was a gift. Do with it what you will.
Miss USA and Miss Hendo accompanied me on this little trip. I was stupidly excited. The girls bought me an Office voucher to spend graciously.
For those that don't know me or have never spent a moment in my company, aside from buying a year's supply of Starbucks/ Cafe Nero/ Costa/ Pret a Manger - this gift was perfect. It had been thoughtfully chosen so that I could purchase a pair of beautiful shoes that I had been coveting for weeks. In fact... perhaps months. Yet, I had never tried them on. I knew that if I did I would want to buy them. I refrained.
Impressive.
But yesterday, yesterday was the day to allow my feet to meet the shoes. To describe them makes them sound awful. But they were earthy coloured strappy high heels with a miniature peacock feathers and beading down the front. Not at all discreet. But very pretty.
And they looked awful. It transpires that my feet do not appreciate peep toe shoes.
I tried on every other pair of shoes, and purchased none.
And this afternoon I said goodbye to the two items I did buy because somehow they looked a little less fabulous than they had in the changing room. And the image you concoct when you mentally add accessories and shoes to complete the outfit, never matches the reality. And it just looks awful.
So my shopping treatment was less than fruitful to say the least. I'm adamant that somehow the high street stores know when you don't have money to spend. They put all the beautiful things on display to tempt you into spending non-existent pennies. Yet when the pennies are bursting out of your purse, you only ever see things you would never ever want to add to the ever expanding wardrobe.
This theory is exempt from designer retailers. These beautiful stores are always cruelly tempting me, beckoning me into their depths with beautiful fabrics and patterns. Somehow ( and I haven't worked this out yet) my inner-sensible person stops me from entering and blowing inexplicable amounts of money and imprinting the credit card statement with figures that would hurt me.
So although I said goodbye to my little sister which I never wanted to do, I didn't spend a penny which I was desperate to do.
How cruel life can be. But like they say "there are plenty more fish in the sea"... I'm pretty sure this relates to men/women after a break up, but in this case it is worthy of the shoe hunt.
