By Gavin Boyter
I was wrong, Suzannah.
I was wrong when I said Bitcoin would top $70,000. I was wrong when Doggyspa.com seemed like a great investment. I was wrong when I thought my first marriage would last a lifetime and when I remained certain my second could be saved. I was wrong to try primal scream therapy. I was wrong about kombucha (it isn’t a pretentious waste of time). I was wrong about The Killers (I thought they were a questionable Duran Duran rip off with one album in them at best). I was wrong about sending Alex to boarding school (a terrible move). I was wrong about his Asperger’s (it didn’t just “clear up”).
I was wrong about Skype versus Zoom (remember Skype?) I was wrong about ivermectin. I was wrong about Julia’s whooping cough (it wasn’t whooping cough). I was wrong about Bosnia and Herzegovina as a holiday destination (a surprisingly beautiful and fascinating country). I was wrong about cross country running (it’s not for me). I was wrong about every tie I ever bought (Emily, second wife, told me).
I was wrong about Lexus RZ getting 300 miles on a single charge. I was wrong about there being a service station on this B-road with an electrical charge point.
I was wrong about Nokia. I was wrong about Vienna’s architecture (surprisingly dull). I was wrong about Kathy teasing me mercilessly in primary school (apparently that could be a sign of affection).
I was wrong about jazz (I enjoy Dave Brubeck, Ella Fitzgerald and Miles Davis). I was wrong about isolation tanks (they are terrifying). I was wrong about promoting my CFO to CEO. I was wrong about the hostile takeover. I was wrong about the IPO of my first company. I was wrong about sub-prime mortgages (but so was everyone else). I was wrong about marital counselling (it might have worked, but I realised my error too late, and papers had been served).
I was wrong about sunset times in late January in Assynt. I was wrong about the lack of 4G (forget about 5G) north of Inverness. I was wrong to wear these shoes. I was wrong to refuse a hat or scarf or gloves.
I was wrong about Alex’s wedding. I was wrong about his husband. I was wrong about their first dance, and how it would make me feel (I cried). I was wrong to trust the Daily Mail and wrong to become an early adopter of Twitter, before my thoughts on gay marriage and the ordination of female priests had… matured. I was wrong about Piers Morgan. I was wrong to vote for Boris (again, not alone in that one).
I was wrong not to install a home gym instead of a home cinema (Bergman prints won’t save me now). I was wrong not to keep up the cross country, even if I hated it. I was wrong to enter this plantation, and wrong to follow the forestry trail (it led nowhere). I was wrong not to buy that satellite phone. I was wrong not to get a hybrid and carry a spare can of petrol. I was wrong not to invest in some paper maps. I was wrong to forget that the Highlands are not the Cotswolds.
I was wrong about Julia’s ragged cough and wrong to opt for home remedies. I was wrong about getting a second opinion (we should have got several). I was wrong about cancer in juveniles. I was wrong about experimental treatments (they made her short life a misery). I was wrong about suing my GP (a complete waste of everyone’s time). I was wrong about the Make a Wish Foundation. I was wrong about palliative care. I was wrong about grief and how long it lasts (it doesn’t end, it just becomes a background ache of disappointment and injustice). I was wrong about money getting you to the front of the queue. I was wrong about the NHS (their nurses are angels). I was wrong to think a marriage can withstand anything. I was wrong about the burial plot, and about the evening sun streaming between the churchyard willows.
I was wrong to insist on a registry wedding (my second marriage, Emily’s first). I was wrong about the bridesmaid’s dresses (they didn’t look like raspberry meringues). I was wrong about Robbie Williams’ “Angels” for a first dance. I was wrong about dance lessons (we got a round of applause). I was wrong about the cruise (they suck). I was wrong to work 70-hour weeks for thirty-eight years.
I was wrong about the symptoms of a heart attack. I was wrong not to call 999. I was wrong about keeping up with my physiotherapy.
I was wrong about cushions, napkins, curtains, socks, scarves in short textiles of all colours, designs and purposes, according to my beloved Suzannah. I was wrong about The Frog Chorus (Alex’s favourite). I was wrong not to clap when he played it on two kazoos simultaneously. I was wrong about theoretical physics as a career. I was wrong about his writing. I was wrong not to attend the Science Book Awards. I was wrong to let another fight with Emily keep me at home watching the dullest Snooker Master’s final in decades.
I was wrong about getting reception at higher altitudes. I was wrong to think I could see the car from here. I was wrong about how far the mercury drops after dark.
I was wrong about my priorities. I was wrong about the unrelenting stain of shame. I was wrong about trying to blackmail Emily into staying.
I was wrong not to add ‘track-a-buddy’ to Suzannah’s phone so that she could trace me. I was wrong about moonlight when the clouds obscure the sky. I was wrong to risk this route. I was wrong to wear this thin jacket and these skimpy trousers. I was wrong not to leave an emergency contact at check-in. I was wrong to take this pointless trip alone.
Susanna, bless her, was right.
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Gavin is a Scottish writer and filmmaker living in Margate, Kent. He has published two travel memoirs about running ludicrously long distances, Downhill from Here and Running the Orient. The latter book charts his 2300 mile run from Paris to Istanbul, following the 1883 route of the Orient Express. Gavin’s stories have been published in Constellations, Blueing the Blade, DIAGRAM, Riptide, The Closed Eye Open, Bright Flash Literary Review, La Piccioletta Barca and Freshwater Review. He is also the writer-director of the 2015 independent film Sparks and Embers. In 2023, he published his debut novel Elena in Exile.