Marriage

I sit in the darkness, typing, near midnight. The Argentines sleep around me. Do they ponder, as I ponder, the how, the how, the how?

How can two people truly spend their lives together and still love each other until death do us part? Are we really animals of lifelong monogamy, or as usual are we being blinded into these things? In the green corner we have the condors, squawking away about the bliss of mating for life. Sharing a nest, a view, the upbringing of chicks, is unique and wonderful, they claim. Together you make some thing, grow something and make it fly, they say. It's special. And there's always someone there, warming the nest for when you return.

It's interesting that many animals that do mate for life are birds. I mean, they have more freedom than most, being able to fly away whenever they want and not come back. And yet they do.

In the red corner we have the elephants. No one hardly ever messes with them (except those human bastards) and they do OK. They get it done, with hard work and patience. Their time spent in pairs is sporadic, yet with purpose. I applaud that. It reminds of being at university.

With two weeks to go until 'I do' why am I dreaming about all my ex crushes, boyfriends, trysts and lovers? During the night my mind is somehow dealing with my upcoming nuptials in a way that during the day doesn't even occur to me. How many lines must be drawn? People I haven't even thought about for years pop up and must be buried in the sand. That's fine, I don't want to build a castle for them. But the more this goes on, the closer it gets, the more every breath with the word marriage strikes me across the chest and my heart stops beating a second longer.

It stops beating because I love him, adore him, am in love with him. It stops beating because I've never done anything so enormous with anyone else. It stops beating because this is the most serious thing I'm ever going to do. It stops beating because there was me and him and now, always, there will be us.

And then I breathe again. Another second passes and I am still me. And I can still fly.

So I do.

Up where we don't belong

When I was 11, I wanted to be a pilot. It stayed with me for two years, until I realised I was much better at writing than physics; at talking than flying.

And now, I sit on my couch and watch the new British Airways advert. Goosebumps crawl across my arms. What would it have been like to fly with the wind in your hair? How would it have been training to lift all those tonnes off the ground and into the air? Could I really have become a captain?

I watch that advert and its romance makes me hold my breath. The first time I saw it, I was entranced. From the first scene of the man in that open-topped flying machine, I said to myself, Please be British Airways.

The magic of flying has never left me. It's not just that scientists never really understood how planes got in the air until relatively recently; or how they design those trays of food so everything fits within inches; or the walk of the crew as they stride along with their smart suitcases, imaculate and self-assured.

It's the possibility of the impossible. National Geopgraphic recently ran a front cover, Can we fly? http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2011/09/personal-flight/shute-text The dream will never go away.

I am fortunate enough to have a recurring dream about flying. It comes round about once every year, and it's exactly the same as the first time I dreamt it around the age of seven. I am flying over the estate I used to live on. It's a sunny day and I simply swoop over all the little pacthes of garden and cottages. It's exhilarating.

However, we came from the sea. Some 3.8 billion years ago life began there. Many of us live on islands. We are surrounded. The need to swim is therefore great. I couldn't imagine a life without seeing water, especially the ocean, and want to get wet. It pulses through our bodies, our cells.

And yet; that British Airways advert fills me with the nostalgia of flight. It was even the subject of my first prize winning poem when I was eight (see below).

But we don't belong there. I must keep my feet firmly on the ground. I will never be a British Airways captain.

I'll just keep dreaming.

FLIGHT OF FANCY

One night I was dreaming
I was flying like a concorde.
I could touch the clouds.
I could see the lord.

I said, "Could you pinch me
To see if I'm flying?"
The lord said, "You're dreaming."
I said, "But I'm trying."

"Trying what?" said the lord.
"I'm trying to fly," I said.
When all of a suddent as if by magic
I woke up in my bed.

To view the British Airways advert see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4JdQi60an0&feature=relmfu

Picture credit: Nic Morrish