For the past two years (nearly) I've been living in London. This city has somewhat captured my heart with it's skyline, markets, coffee shops and people. I have fallen in love. And I don't intend to leave any time soon.
Yet one fraction of my heart remains in the depths of Dorset. I grew up in Bournemouth (okay not really the depths, but you'll see what I mean in a minute) and my summers were spent whiling away the time at the beach, picnicing in the forest, and generally frolicking around the town trying to keep occupied. It was a good life.
Now for someone that grew up surrounded by fields, ocean and space, the city doesn't always quite hit the spot. Sometimes, the silence and the peace of the countryside is exactly what I need, and after a busy few months, this is definitely the place I am at. Fortunately, my family and a few friends are still about, so I've come home for a couple of weeks during the Easter holidays.
This morning I woke up buzzing. Not just because of my phone alarm, but at the prospect of clean air and a bit of travel. It seemed to take forever to get to Waterloo, and forever and a day to grab coffee at Costa, so I only just managed to make it onto my train. And then I settled down with The Great Gatsby, the second book on a long list of 'non-uni reading'. Which essentially translates to: reading-for-fun-novels. I don't always get a lot of those. Armed with my coffee and music, I napped and read, until the grey of London turned into the grey and green of fields and clouds as I headed further south.
One of the joys of getting the train for me, is based on the last five minutes of the journey. My great aunt and uncle live in a house not too far from a railway line. As a kid I practically lived at their house, and their garden was my home. My cousins and I spent a lot of time running around playing make-believe, but I was always super excited when a train went by. Don't ask me why. Perhaps it was the prospect of adventure, perhaps it was just the idea of a stream of people smiling as I waved at them. Either way, it was great.
And now, as I travel home, I'm one of those people on that train. And it always makes me smile as I try and catch a glimpse of their house, and the garden that I used to know so well.
Coming home is always a strange feeling. The tensions of old and new, familiar and different are ever present. But there is something infinitely comforting about seeing the landscapes that you've known so well, even if it is Castlepoint. I am very much looking forward to two weeks of peace and rest, catching up with old friends and wandering across the beach and fields that I have so, so missed.
I look forward to keeping you updated on my adventures.