The four of us, my best friend Ruth, my parents and mc, were walking over a piece of damp moorland in Scotland. It was cold, in spite of the spring sunshine. and rather bleak. I have to say, I'd been quite anxious about Ruth when we set out. I wasn't sure how a New Yorker would react to all this empty scenery. Although she's lived in London for years, this was the first time shed ever been to Scotland, which was surprising. It was also the first time she'd been on a trip with my family, which was not so surprising. My parents almost never go away.
My family runs a travel agency, so a holiday's just like work for them —or so they say. Just occasionally, though. something gets them moving. This time it was a small advert in the newspaper. My father saw it in the travel section, which normally he only reads for research purposes. It was a special offer — a long weekend in a farmhouse at a really good price. What was crucial, though, was that it ended with the magic words 'excellent bird-watching country'. Suddenly, we were in the car heading north for Scotland.
'I think I've just seen a sparrow-harrier,' said Ruth, 'but now all I'm getting is sky.'
'Binoculars an be very tricky if you're not used to them,' said my mother.
'So can bird names,' I said. 'You've just invented the sparrow-harrier. It must've been either a sparrowhawk or a hen harrier.'
My father was struggling with one foot deep in a wet patch of mud. He heaved it free; it gave out (line 18) a loud squelch. 'In actual fact,' he said, 'it was a buzzard.'I think Dad likes bird-watching the way some people like fishing. It gives him an excuse to go somewhere lonely and stare into space. To be fair, though, he can get quite animated; when he thought he'd spotted a firecrest up an oak tree, he brought the binoculars up so fast he blacked both his eyes. I remember trying not to laugh. Somehow, though. I hadn't expected Ruth to find it appealing. Here she was staring at a disappearing dot in the sky and saying, 'Okay. So can I claim to have seen a buzzard? Even though I didn't know what it was?' My father bent down and pointed to a small, boring plant. half-hidden in the grass. 'What's that?' he said.
Ruth examined it carefully. 'I have absolutely no idea,' she said.
'Neither have I,' said my father, 'but whatever it is, we've definitely both seen it.'
'I think that was a "yes" to your buzzard question,' said my mother.
We only had one more day away. Then it was back to reality for all of us. Ruth and I are both taking a 'year out' between school and college. I have to admit things weren't turning out exactly as we expected — though bits have been really good. The idea was to work and save, then travel and party. I got a job at once, as an assistant at the agency. I would like to point out, here, that this only sounds like an easy option to people who have never worked for my parents. It's been hard for Ruth to find jobs though, so she never has much money. It's a pity because. wherever you want to travel, you have to pay — unless you're my parents, of course. It was on the walk back to the farm that they began to discuss free holidays. Which I have to say I thought was very tactless of them.
First, my father sympathised with my mother about hotel managers who offered her a room for nothing in the hope she'd include them in one of the agency's tours. Then my mother sympathised with my father about tour operators who offered a no-charge away-break to encourage him to sell their excursions.
'People get jealous because they think you'd enjoy such trips,' said Mum, 'but we rarely accept the offers and, if we do, it's just another part of the job.'
Later, Ruth said she'd more or less guessed right then what was going to happen. I hadn't. I was too (line 44) busy being indignant at the waste. I didn't begin to get ideas until that evening when my mother took a all from the office.
1 What worried the narrator about the trip before they left?
