So, I’ve always loved civil engineering. Some people collect stamps; I collect emotional reactions to road layouts. Give me a slip road and I’ll give you a TED Talk. The A3/M25 junction? Stunning. The Hindhead Tunnel? Please don’t start me unless you’ve cleared your afternoon. Basically, civil engineering rocks my world and I’m not ashamed!
My husband once said, “You know other countries have civil engineering too?” Which is exactly the kind of reckless statement that results in a holiday booking. When he suggested Norway, I imagined fjords, serenity, and me behaving like a competent, spreadsheet-owning adult. I was not anticipating an infrastructure pilgrimage but agreed to let it go, just this once.
Anyway, much to my husband’s (and my own) surprise, I put the kettle on while I summoned Brian, my sideways ADHD brain, to kick off this research project. “Right,” I told him. “Norway. Fjords. Scenic.” And then added with a wink at my husband, “see you later and Brian and I will have it all booked!”.
(Guess who actually organised the entire trip *)
Sometimes I love Brian so much. Five minutes later I was researching Icelandic back roads, which felt odd because we were going to Norway. Then the cogs started whirring. Perhaps I should learn Norwegian? Should I become Norwegian? Will we see puffins – what are their migratory habits? It’s like going to a supermarket for a pint of milk and coming home with an ornamental bonsai.
There was just so much to look at in this superb rabbit hole to which I was now 100% committed. The dopamine was mounting, the pressure building (knees weak, arms are heavy, vomit on her sweater already, mom’s spaghetti? Gotta love Eminem)
I have never been good with numbers especially their practical application. Maths and I have decided to see other people. And frankly I think time zones are one of the most stupid things invented. Norway is only an hour ahead of the UK, but that single hour felt like a betrayal. Was this some sort of mathematical conspiracy? Had we technically travelled into the future? At 56 I could really do with that hour back, thanks very much. I was going to be jet-lagged without leaving Europe. My husband seemed remarkably unsympathetic to my plight. I digress.
If you have never been to Norway, you won’t know that it is literally full of tunnels. And when I say tunnels, I mean entire concrete ecosystems. But nothing – and I mean nothing – prepared me for the blue roundabout. The most amazing thing I have ever seen.
A roundabout.
In a tunnel.
Under a mountain.
Glowing electric blue.
Not “slightly tinted.” Not “subtly illuminated.” No. We are talking love child of Poseidon and a lighting designer from Vegas. It was like being gently swallowed by a very polite sea monster with excellent traffic management. I was utterly mesmerised.
My husband knows me so well. “Has this made your holiday?” he whispered. “Yes” I choked. “Someone has built a roundabout under the mountain”.
Blue. Circular. Underground. Organised. Four things I will never be and therefore deeply, profoundly soothing.
Here’s the thing about travelling with ADHD. You will absolutely forget something important like packing your pants, but you will also notice magic. I noticed the way the light hit the concrete, and the way the junctions were so compelling. While other people were admiring fjords, I was whispering, “Look at the drainage solutions.”
The holiday was a long trip in the car.
But I saw a glowing blue roundabout.
And honestly? That felt like winning.
*Reader, I married him.
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