‘It’s not a forfeiting; it’s a substitution’ and other lessons in emigrating

London rises. It emerges from the treetops and chimney pots as I gaze out of my window-seat view on the train. Steel and glass and past and present climbing skywards. Its angles catch the afternoon light, reflecting summer blues and patches of cloud.

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Quarantine: Notes from the inside

I’ll make some tea now, love,” I say to Matt. “I just want to rinse the shower gel out of the mugs first.” Stretched-out adult arms can reach opposing sides of our bathroom. In the sink, I pick up the mugs and rinse them of the shower gel we’ve been using to clean them. We have nothing else.

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The Great Vintage Adventure: Day three

I wake in the early hours, expecting to hear rain on the roof of the quirky, quaint and full-of-personality cottage we’re staying in. But it is quiet. I can’t hear anything at all. The forecast, which warned us of heavy rain all the way from Barrydale to Cape Town...

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The Great Vintage Adventure: Day two

Matt gets back in the Triumph, laughing. “What did your dad say?” I ask. “He says not to worry about the rev counter,” he replies. “Apparently it only starts working once the car’s warmed up.” We drive out of the Willowmore Old Jail and pull over almost immediately.

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The Great Vintage Adventure: Day one

In a year where all plans were scrapped, the stars aligned to make this one happen. Matt first mentioned it to me sometime in the middle of 2019: “When my parents move from Kenton to Cape Town,” he said, “I’m hoping to help my dad move his cars.” A 1934 Austin 10 and a 1964 Triumph Spitfire.

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