Not Quite According to Plan

I’ve always had an ambivalent attitude to Istanbul. Part fear, part fascination. It’s possible this has something to do with seeing Midnight Express six times, but I prefer to think it’s because Istanbul was where Bertha was supposed to go.

Even if she didn’t actually make it.

All lives have their important moments. Births, fallings-in-love, honours, flashes of inspiration. The summer Bertha set off for Istanbul had none of these. Nothing much happened, nobody’s lives were changed, none of us achieved a state of enlightenment. It was just another holiday, in the grand tradition of British holidays that don’t quite go according to plan.

Nevertheless it seems worth writing down. Documenting, even – though I come to the task thirty-plus years after the event and it turns out there’s precious little documentation to work with.

I take full responsibility for this, by the way. I was the photography student on the bus, for heaven’s sake – so where are all the pictures?