Somewhere between the golden dunes and endless skies, 
there is a teenage girl still laughing with her dad, 
blissfully unaware that one day she would give anything 
to return.

Dear Future Descendant,
Welcome back to another little piece of my life.
Today, I want to take you somewhere rather special.
Somewhere far away from the green fields, winding country lanes and unpredictable weather of England.
Somewhere the sunshine seemed to stretch endlessly across the sky, where the horizon disappeared into a sea of golden sand, and where some of the happiest memories of my entire life were made.
I want to take you to Saudi Arabia.
But not the Saudi Arabia you might discover in a history book, a documentary or an old newspaper article.
I want to take you to the Saudi Arabia of my teenage years.
To a place where the sun seemed bigger than the sky, where summer days stretched out like gold, and where every grain of sand seemed to hold a thousand untold stories.
A place where I experienced different cultures, made wonderful friends, discovered new adventures and enjoyed the sort of freedom that seems to belong almost exclusively to youth.
But most importantly, it was a place where I got to spend precious time with someone who meant the absolute world to me.
My wonderful dad.
And goodness me, how I wish I could go back.
Just for one more day.

Those Glorious Teenage Summers.
There is something rather magical about being a teenager.
You're no longer quite a child, but you're not yet an adult either.
You're standing somewhere between the two, with one foot still firmly planted in the innocence of childhood and the other tentatively stepping towards the great unknown.
Everything feels exciting.
The world seems enormous.
The possibilities appear endless.
And time?
Well, time is something you barely think about.
You certainly don't imagine that one day you will find yourself desperately wishing you could turn it backwards.
During my teenage years, I was incredibly fortunate to spend my summer holidays with my dad in Saudi Arabia.
And I loved every single minute.
The moment I arrived, it felt as though I had stepped into another world.
The heat was extraordinary, the skies were a beautiful endless blue, and the sunshine seemed to have made a permanent home above us.
There was something wonderful about being surrounded by a culture so different from the one I knew in England.
Different sights, different sounds, different traditions and different ways of life.
I loved experiencing it all.
Those summers opened my eyes to a much bigger world, one filled with people, places and experiences I might otherwise never have known.
And that is one of the greatest gifts travel can give us.
It teaches us that the world is so much larger than the little corner in which we happen to live.
That there is beauty in our differences.
That adventures are waiting beyond the familiar.
And that some of the most extraordinary memories are made when we venture somewhere completely new.
But although Saudi Arabia was a fascinating place to spend my teenage summers, it wasn't simply the destination that made those holidays so special.
It was the company.
It was my dad.

Sunshine, Friendships and the Sweetness of Being Young.
Our days were filled with the sort of happiness that requires very little effort.
Long, glorious days spent around our swimming pool, soaking up the sunshine, enjoying the water and laughing with fantastic friends.
Friends who became part of those wonderful summer adventures.
There were shopping trips, visits to the beach, games of bowling and even evenings playing bingo.
Yes, bingo!
Not every teenage adventure involved something terribly exciting or glamorous, you know.
Sometimes the simplest things were the most enjoyable.
And then there was the food.
Oh, the wonderful food!
It was during those summers that my love affair with Thai food truly blossomed.
Even now, all these years later, Thai food remains my absolute favourite.
Isn't it extraordinary how certain tastes and smells can transport us back through the years?
One familiar flavour and suddenly a memory comes rushing back.
A place.
A person.
A moment.
An entire chapter of your life that you hadn't realised was still tucked away so vividly in your mind.
And I wonder, dear future descendant, whether you have memories like that too.
Perhaps a particular meal reminds you of your childhood.
Perhaps a certain perfume brings back someone you loved.
Or perhaps, like me, there is a place somewhere in this enormous world that holds a piece of your heart.
Because although I loved every moment of those Saudi Arabian summers, there was one adventure that stood above all the others.
One that has remained so deeply embedded in my soul that even now, decades later, I can almost feel the sand beneath my feet.
The desert.
Those magnificent, endless sand dunes.

Where the Desert Became Our Playground.
I wish I could properly describe those moments to you.
I wish I could somehow reach through the years, take your hand and show you exactly what they felt like.
Because words, however carefully chosen, never seem quite enough.
We would drive out towards the desert, leaving behind the familiar surroundings until the world began to open up around us.
The buildings would disappear.
The roads and the bustle of everyday life would fall away.
And before us lay an extraordinary landscape of rolling golden dunes stretching towards an endless horizon.
No crowds.
No noise.
No demands upon our time.
Just sand.
Just sky.
And the promise of another wonderful adventure.
I can almost hear my dad suggesting we head out to the dunes, and feel that familiar excitement rising inside me.
Because I knew what was coming.
Freedom.
Pure, glorious, uncomplicated freedom.
We would climb out into that vast golden landscape, and then we would run.
Oh, goodness, how we would run!
Up those enormous sandy slopes, our feet sinking into the soft sand with every step.
Sometimes it felt as though we were taking two steps forward and sliding one step backwards.
The higher we climbed, the harder our legs had to work.
But we didn't care.
Because reaching the top meant only one thing.
We got to run all the way back down again!
And down we would go.
Running.
Stumbling.
Sliding.
Sometimes tumbling.
Laughing so hard that we could barely breathe.
The sand would slip beneath our feet, sending us flying down those great golden slopes, our laughter disappearing into the vastness of the desert.
And then, with sand in places sand really had no business being, we would turn around and climb back up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
For hours on end.
I was a teenager, full of energy and the wonderful freedom of youth, while my dad was right there beside me, sharing every laugh, every adventure and every precious moment, neither of us in any hurry for the day to end.
The dunes were our playground.
The desert was our kingdom.
And we needed no crowns to feel like the luckiest people alive.
I remember the feeling of being so wonderfully free.
Not simply free from school, homework or the ordinary routines of teenage life.
But free in a way that is difficult to explain once you have grown older.
Free from worry.
Free from responsibility.
Free from the knowledge of all the painful things life would eventually bring.
There was no yesterday to regret.
No tomorrow to fear.
Only that moment.
That extraordinary, beautiful moment.
A teenage girl.
Her wonderful dad.
And the whole wide desert stretching out before them.
Sometimes I think those were the moments when I felt most alive.
The wind against my face.
The warmth of the sunshine.
The endless golden waves of sand.
The laughter that made our bellies ache.
And that indescribable feeling that the whole world belonged to us.
I didn't need anything else.
I had everything I wanted.
Although, of course, I didn't realise it at the time.

The Cruelty of Not Knowing.
There is something I have come to understand as I have grown older, dear future descendant.
Something rather heartbreaking.
We never seem to recognise the most precious moments of our lives while we are living them.
We imagine that happiness will announce itself.
That somehow, when we are experiencing something truly extraordinary, we will know to hold on a little tighter.
To look a little longer.
To remember every tiny detail.
But life doesn't work that way.
Sometimes the moments we would give absolutely anything to revisit are the ones we barely thought twice about at the time.
An ordinary conversation.
A familiar laugh.
A car journey.
A sunny afternoon.
A dad telling his teenage daughter that they are heading out into the desert.
And off they go, completely unaware that they are making memories she will carry for the rest of her life.
I cannot remember the last time we ran down those dunes together.
And that breaks my heart.
I remember the happiness.
I remember the excitement.
I remember the freedom.
I remember laughing until my stomach hurt.
But I cannot remember that final afternoon.
The last climb.
The last race down the sand.
The last time I looked across those dunes and saw my dad there beside me.
Because, of course, I didn't know it would be the last.
Why would I?
I was a teenager.
I had my whole life ahead of me.
And surely my dad would always be there.
There would always be another summer.
Another holiday.
Another adventure.
Another opportunity to make wonderful memories together.
Wouldn't there?
But life, as I would eventually discover, makes no such promises.

When the Sands of Time Slipped Away.
My wonderful dad was taken from us far too young.
And with his passing, something inside me changed forever.
There are losses that alter the entire landscape of your life.
They divide your memories into two separate worlds.
The world before.
And the world after.
Before, there was the innocence of believing the people you loved would always be there.
After, there was the painful understanding that even the most precious things in life can disappear.
Before, there was laughter echoing across the desert.
After, there was a silence that no amount of time could ever completely fill.
And perhaps that is why those Saudi Arabian summers mean so incredibly much to me.
Because when I remember them, I don't simply remember a holiday.
I remember a time before everything changed.
A time when my dad was alive.
When I could hear his voice.
See his smile.
Share his laughter.
A time when I didn't yet know what it felt like to miss somebody so desperately that the longing could physically ache.
Sometimes I think about the sand slipping beneath our feet as we climbed those dunes.
How we tried to make our way upwards, only for the sand to slide away beneath us.
And I realise now how much it reminds me of time itself.
No matter how desperately we try to hold on to it, it keeps moving.
Slipping through our fingers.
Carrying us forwards whether we are ready or not.
The teenage girl I once was could never have imagined how quickly those golden summers would become distant memories.
How the years would drift away.
How the footprints we left behind would eventually disappear beneath the desert winds.
Or how, decades later, she would still be searching for those moments in the quiet corners of her heart.
But here I am.
Older now.
A wife.
A mother.
A woman who has lived, loved, laughed, lost and learned so much since those extraordinary teenage summers.
And yet, somewhere deep inside me, that girl is still there.
Still running.
Still laughing.
Still wishing those days had never ended.

If Heaven Allowed Me Just One More Day.
Oh, Dad.
What I wouldn't give.
What I wouldn't give for just one more day.
Not a week.
Not a month.
Not even an entire summer.
Just one day.
One beautiful, sun-filled day in Saudi Arabia.
One more drive out into the desert.
One more chance to watch those enormous golden dunes appear on the horizon.
One more opportunity to scramble up their sandy slopes, laughing at how ridiculously difficult it was to reach the top.
And one more glorious run all the way back down.
Although my legs might have a few objections these days!
But do you know something?
I wouldn't care.
I would crawl up those dunes if I had to.
Because waiting for me at the top would be something worth more than anything this world could ever offer.
My dad.
And I would give absolutely anything to hear that laughter again.
To see his face.
To feel the warmth of his presence.
To be his daughter again, without the terrible ache of missing him.
Perhaps we would spend the afternoon running and laughing just as we once did.
And when we were finally exhausted, we could sit together upon the warm sand and watch the desert stretch endlessly before us.
I would rest my head against his shoulder.
I would hold his hand.
And for a little while, I would allow myself to forget all the years that had passed.
All the birthdays we’ve missed.
All the Christmases without him.
All the moments when I wished he had been there.
All the times I needed my dad.
I would simply sit beside him.
And breathe.
Because sometimes, when you have lost somebody you love so deeply, the thing you long for most isn't a grand conversation or some extraordinary experience.
It's their presence.
The simple, beautiful privilege of having them there.
Of knowing that, for one precious moment, everything is as it should be.
And before that day ended, I would tell him something I wish I could tell him now.
Thank you, Dad.
Thank you for those wonderful summers.
Thank you for showing me a different part of the world.
Thank you for the adventures, the laughter, the friendships and the memories.
Thank you for making me feel so wonderfully free.
And thank you for giving me something that even death could never take away.
The memory of being your daughter.
Of being loved by you.
Of being happy beyond words.

The Girl Who Still Lives Among the Dunes.
I have a rather whimsical thought sometimes.
I wonder whether tiny pieces of ourselves remain in the places where we were once happiest.
Not in any way that science could explain, perhaps.
But in the strange and beautiful way that memories seem to exist outside of time.
I like to imagine that somewhere in the Saudi Arabian desert, a teenage girl is still running across those golden dunes.
Her feet sinking into the warm sand.
Her hair blowing in the desert breeze.
Her eyes sparkling with laughter.
And somewhere beside her is her dad.
Both of them laughing so hard that their stomachs hurt.
Neither of them worrying about tomorrow.
Neither of them knowing what the future holds.
Neither of them imagining that one day these joyful afternoons will become some of the most treasured memories of a lifetime.
In that little corner of my imagination, time has stood still.
The sunshine never fades.
The laughter never ends.
And my dad never has to leave.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can almost hear the desert wind again.
Almost feel the sand beneath my feet.
Almost hear his laughter carried across those endless golden slopes.
And for the briefest moment, the years seem to disappear.
I am no longer a woman looking back across decades.
I am that teenager again.
Running towards the horizon.
With my dad beside me.
And nothing in the world to fear.

Why I Want You to Know This.
You may be wondering why I am telling you all this, dear future descendant.
Why I am writing about swimming pools, Thai food, shopping trips, bowling, bingo and afternoons spent running through the Saudi Arabian desert.
After all, these are hardly the sorts of things that make their way into history books.
But that is precisely why I am writing them down.
Because when you come looking for us, you will probably find the official records.
You may discover my dad's name.
Christopher John Newell.
You might find photographs, documents, newspaper articles or details about the tragic, horrific circumstances surrounding his death.
You may discover where he lived, when he was born and how heartbreakingly young he was when his life ended.
But I don't want that to be all you know about him.
I don't want his story to be remembered only for the sadness of its ending.
I want you to know that he laughed.
That he loved.
That he gave his daughter some of the happiest summers of her life.
That somewhere, thousands of miles from England, he once ran up and down enormous sand dunes with his teenage daughter until they could barely breathe for laughing.
I want you to know that he was so much more than a name on a family tree.
He was my dad.
My wonderful, irreplaceable dad.
And I adored him.
I still do.
Because love doesn't disappear when somebody dies.
It simply has to find a different place to live.
And sometimes that place is a memory.
A photograph.
A story.
Or a golden stretch of desert that you haven't visited in years but can still see as clearly as if you were standing there yesterday.

Somewhere Beyond the Sands of Time.
As I sit here writing this, I find myself wondering what became of those footprints we left behind.
All those years ago.
All those afternoons.
All those thousands of steps we took climbing up and racing down the dunes.
Of course, the desert winds will have swept them away long ago.
The sand will have shifted.
The landscape may have changed.
There will be no physical trace of the teenage girl and her dad who once laughed their way across those golden slopes.
But perhaps that doesn't matter.
Because some footprints aren't left upon the earth.
They are left upon our hearts.
And those are the ones that never truly disappear.
My dad left footprints upon my heart that time will never erase.
Neither distance nor death can take away the love that created them.
And although the sands of Saudi Arabia have long since swallowed the marks we left behind, the memories remain.
As golden as the sunshine.
As endless as the horizon.
As precious as the man who helped create them.
So, dear future descendant, if life ever takes you to a place of great rolling sand dunes, I hope you will do something rather wonderful for me.
Take off your shoes, if the sand is cool enough.
Climb to the top.
Look out across that enormous landscape.
And then run.
Run as though the whole world belongs to you.
Run as though there is no yesterday and no tomorrow.
Laugh until your belly hurts.
Feel the wind against your face and the glorious freedom of simply being alive.
And spare a little thought for your ancestor who once did exactly the same thing.
A teenage girl who spent her summers in Saudi Arabia.
Who loved sunshine, swimming pools, wonderful friends and delicious Thai food.
Who adored exploring different cultures and discovering new adventures.
But who loved nothing more than running up and down the desert dunes with her dad.
Because if there is one thing I have learned from those beautiful, bittersweet memories, it is this.
We spend so much of our lives looking towards the future that we sometimes forget we are already living the moments we will one day long to revisit.
So hold on to the people you love.
Laugh with them.
Make memories.
Take the photographs.
Go on the adventures.
And never underestimate the extraordinary beauty of an ordinary day spent with somebody who means the world to you.
Because one day, you may discover that those were the moments that mattered most.
And as for me?
Well, I shall carry those Saudi Arabian summers in my heart for as long as I live.
The sunshine.
The friendships.
The adventures.
The golden sand.
The laughter.
And my dad.
Always my dad.
For somewhere among those endless dunes, beneath that enormous desert sky, there is a teenage girl who will never grow older.
A girl whose heart is light.
Whose laughter is loud.
Whose world is wonderfully uncomplicated.
And whose dad is still right there beside her.
Running.
Laughing.
Living.
Loving.
Together.
Forever young, somewhere among the sands.
Until next time,
Toodle pip, 
Your ancestor, Lainey.
Still carrying the desert in her soul, the sunshine in her memories, and her wonderful dad in her heart.
And still wishing, with every fibre of her being, for just one more summer's day. ❤️

Intwined — 
Because every life has a story worth telling.