Homeward Bound

© Copyright Walter Baxter and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

I love home.

I've just been there for 5 whole days, with The Bairn in tow, for a holiday. Well, not so much a holiday as it was for work in a neighbouring town. Why do I still call it "Home"? I've lived a hundred miles away since I was 18 (which was approximately 73 years ago), and am perfectly AT home here in my actual home. In fact, when I go to the Ol' Ancestral Home (true story - my 7 Greats Granda was one of the village's first occupants in the 1700s. And this time I'm not even exaggerating! Fascinating stuff if you're interested in my Bee-nealogy) I no longer recognise 90% of the people I see. It can be a bit embarrassing. For example - The Bairn, Grampa and My Good Self went for stroll with the buggy yesterday. As we're attempting to push the decidedly suburban stroller (the Baby-style-but-little-substance Oyster) down a muddy, overgrown-grassy, steeply sloping back lane, we meet a girl. Someone I should clearly know. Some reasons for this:

• She calls my Dad's name, East Clintwood (not necessarily his real name).
• She knows my Dad's friend - whose greenhouse he'd been watering.
• She's my age.
• She has a toddler not much older than The Bairn.
• There are only about 4 girls ("ladies" I should say, i won't flatter myself) my age in the village. And they made up 50% of my primary school class.
• New people don't move to the village. Not ever.

We had a whole conversation about the merits of monkey shaped baby rein rucksacks and the easy purchase thereof from The Mighty Amazon.The whole time I'm thinking

"Who the hell are you, woman? Take off your sunnies! Give me something to work with for Chrissakes! Or at least go the opposite way so Dad (that's East to you) can tell me who the *#%+ you actually are? You nice lady, you!"

We then overtake with the buggy - no mean feat in this terrain, but we can just about get past a wobbly-legged year old toddler in grass taller than him - and I ask Dad who this was?

"Dunno".

Marvellous. In conclusion; my ancestral home, which after all these years remains in my heart of hearts as Home, seems to have morphed into Where I Once Belonged. Sadly I recognised only ONE LADY the whole time I was Home.

Posted with Blogsy