Norman and Mum picked us up from the airport.  We stopped at a service station on the M6 which boasted the following restaurants, Burger King, Starbucks, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Krispie Kreme Donuts.  Luckily for me there was a greasy spoon cafe which offered me the first decent cup of tea I have drunk in a decade. It also offered a full English breakfast which to be honest I knew I could not do justice to, I was tired, and not hungry and I didn’t want to waste all that food.

After a couple of hours drive we turned on to Ashfield Avenue


And there at the end of the road was my house.  A three story Georgian row house, looking every inch as it did the last time I saw it.  SONY DSC

I cannot tell you the feelings that swept through me the minute that Norman’s car pulled up outside the house.  A wave of emotions just surged through my being, all of the memories of my childhood coursed through my veins and overtook every rational thought I have ever felt.  I WAS HOME.  I nestled into the house like a bear snuggling into a favorite cave for winter. I let the entire house wrap itself around me, like the largest stone security blanket, I walked the halls and the staircases and just looked and drank in every single brick, every single picture on the wall, every single fabric of the carpet on the stairs.  I drank it down, in deep appreciation of the fact that I WAS HOME.  I relished the portrait of the Blue Lady at the top of the stairs, the portrait of Queen Elizabeth outside of the bedroom door, the oil painting of myself in the dining room.  I WAS HOME.  The very bricks grabbed me in their arms and said “you belong here”

I WAS HOME.  And tomorrow the adventure begins.


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