A and I had this great idea to rent a cottage on Airbnb in the English countryside around London for New Year's Eve. We were dreaming of sitting around the fireplace, reading books and going for long walks with little O. We picked a place in Wokingham. But already a few days before leaving, something seemed to be amiss. "Wokingham?" London friends screeched at The Royal Oak in Hackney when they heard about our plans, "Where is Wokingham?" On the day of departure, December 31st, the Southwest Railway was on strike and train travelling promised to be a mess. We weren't really "feeling it" either and we first had to go for a cup of coffee to get us going. In the late afternoon we finally got on our way, dragging with us a big bag of food (because you never know if there is a store open in a rural place like Wokingham).
The cottage had been advertised as quiet and yet central. Perfect for those who travel with train. Upon arrival we saw that "central" quite literally meant next to a busy central road in between Tesco (open!) and the tank station. Around the corner was a Burger King (open too!). The cottage was at the back of a clinic, looking inhospitable and threatening in the dark. The host had written a nice story about how the cottage had been renovated by her parents forty years ago. Upon entering we discovered that the 1970s had never really left the house. The place smelled damp, as you would imagine that the rural 1970s smelled like, and the old worn-out sofas were covered with a few sad blankets. The fireplace hosted a small plastic christmas tree instead of a cosy fire. O kept barking nervously in front of a door that was kept locked.
After sitting for a few minutes in the living room, trying to imagine how we were going to get through two days of Wokingham, we debated taking a train back to London the next day. A few minutes later, we were considering to get out of Wokingham straight away. Once we said it out loud, it felt like the right thing to do so we ran out of the cottage to catch the first train back to the city. To our surprise, we felt great, exhilarated even, as if we had just escaped prison. "We're out of here!" we laughed. A took a picture of me so I can always remember that good feeling of being free. But just the name of Wokingham does the trick too, giving me a big sense of relief.
So, the trip to Wokingham was totally worth it: I can recommend it to everyone who wants to have the feeling of leaving a bad situation behind instead of staying stuck. And I'm telling you: 2020 is gonna be the year of the "Fuck that!" attitude. Wokingham is the perfect training ground for it.