I’m just back from a week with the fam in BrisVegas. It was good. Very quiet. Lots of rain but not as humid as usual, which was lovely. All in all a good visit. But still my feet crave England. It’s always this way, when I get back from a long trip. But still …
People have been saying to me, “Aren’t you glad you’re missing the cold? Aren’t you glad you’re missing the snow?” “No, actually”, I say. “I like the snow. I like it to be cold at Christmas. I wish Australia was in the Northern hemisphere. I really do.” And they shrug, and get on with the business of Summer. And I think for a moment or two of a house in Tunbridge Wells. Because in that house there is a room. And in that room there are some gumboots. And in those boots? There’s nothing. Not my feet, certainly. No indeed. My feet are not tramping through the snow, leading me through the grove to the common, then up the hill to the shops for food to roast as I sit by the fire and write and knit. No indeed.
Ack. Nostalgia and rose tinted glasses – gets the better of me every time.