I wasn't going to post tonight because we just got back from my sister-in-law's funeral and I'm tired and not in a great frame of mind and have taken strong drink, but before I go to bed and forget all about it I want to jot some thoughts down about the experience of going back to the place where I grew up after ten years or so.
It's the weirdest thing. It's like going back onto a stage where some of the scenary has changed but some of it's been left where it is, so you look at the family-run shop you grew up with but now it's a `nail bar.' The roads are in an horrendous state. Everything seems run-down and desperate. There's been a lot of new building and renovation, and none of the changes in architecture are in keeping with the character of the village. It all looks so cold and desolate, I can't imagine having grown up there. It really was quite a shock.
And now I'm back home in the Barnet-Finchley-Hornsey Triangle, a place which once seemed quite alien to me and now seems like the cosy centre of the universe and I'm not entirely sure where I'm from any more.
I'm not being entirely egotistical - my sister-in-law's funeral was a tough thing and I'll share my feelings about that privately with my friends. I just wanted to share my rather confused thoughts about going home again. Now hutch is off to his bed.