I’ve been in contact with an old friend this week. We went our separate ways at eighteen – she went away to uni and I went and got married. She lived up north for a long time and now lives in Wales. Christmas cards, letters and the occasional e-mail have been our only form of contact since we met up briefly about twenty years ago, just before her parents moved to Wales to be near to her.
We dawdled idly through our mutual adolescence on the edge of parental boundaries – I don’t suppose we were that bad, but alcohol, boys and skiving off school were big features of our teenage years from 11-18. We went to different schools, so skiving was sooooo easy! We never once got caught.
She now lives and works only a few miles from Caerleon – the home of the Writers’ Holiday. I emailed her to tell her I would be in Wales in July and on Tuesday evening I rang her.
The first thing that struck me was her Welsh accent! It made me want to laugh out loud because she most definitely didn’t sound Welsh twenty years ago. She said I sounded just like my mum!
After the first ten minutes or so of polite exchange of news about our respective jobs and kids we sort of slipped back in time. It felt just like we were teenagers again. I could almost feel my mum creeping up behind me, ready to yell ‘get off that phone’.
Our mums were both such old meanies about the phone. They didn’t seem to understand just how critical our late night phone calls were – mind you we did live next door to each other!
So – pick up the phone and renew an old friendship or acquaintance. You won’t regret it. I promise.