I recall a conversation with Jason about Scotland – specifically Edinburgh. It was fairly early on in our romantic history -- he told me that despite living relatively close to the Scottish border, he'd only ever been once. “We went to The Tattoo,” he’d said.
I smiled prettily and hoped the fluttering of my eyelashes would mask my confusion; fairly sure that a “tattoo” was something involving ink and needles, I didn't know what part Scotland played in that but damned if I was going to make the boy I fancied think I was an idiot by asking for clarification. I worked out what he was on about eventually – he spoke with palpable affection at being taken to Edinburgh with his parents, how they gathered with a few other thousand people outside Edinburgh Castle and sat spellbound by scores of pipers and marching bands and fireworks – otherwise known as The Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo.
Fast forward 12 years or so to his birthday last December when I was struggling to find an appropriate present for the man who says, “I don’t need anything,” when I remembered the Tattoo tickets were going on sale.
The Tattoo was yesterday – with our obligatory picnic and thermos of hot water, Jase and Ben and I all piled into the car and headed north. We got there just in time and even the rain didn’t spoil our excitement.
It was the perfect birthday present. Jason was utterly transported and it was obvious every time I caught the look on his face, that the real gift was having given our son a lifelong memory nearly identical to his Daddy’s.
1 comment:
I had wondered about what kind of tattooing was going on. Glad everyone had fun!
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