{02/02/2013}   Coming home after time away

I had been away from home for two weeks and in that time it snowed a fair bit, I had two full-on weeks of work, I went to a family funeral, went to two birthday parties and saw quite a few friends (ie more of a social life than normal!); it feels like I’ve been away for a lot longer than two weeks.  I got home last night to my very cold flat and it was good to be home.  While I love staying in London and feel very happy in that flat (I used to live there after all), it’s good to be back where all your stuff is.

I left home for a couple of weeks in London quite late on Thursday just over two weeks ago.  Due to working on Friday and snow being forecast and my needing to drive rather than get a train (Izzy the cat is not a train cat and I can think of few things more stressful than having a yowling cat on a train and then on trains across London), I got home from work at 8.20pm, packed and left home exactly an hour later.  This meant I hadn’t had a chance to do my usual pre-going away clean and tidy.  The flat wasn’t particularly messy but it was messy enough to annoy me.  As I had a one-week train ticket that covered the following weekend, I came here for the day on the following Saturday and had a good clean, including doing a wash and changing the sheets.  So when I got back last night, it was a really good welcome home.  Well, except for it being bitterly cold and spending the rest of the evening wrapped in a blanket while the heating made a start on the almost breath-huffy flat.

When I’m on holiday, for the last few days I start thinking about home.  Assuming I’m having a good holiday, it’s not so much that I want the holiday to end, it’s knowing that soon you will have to leave, which then makes you think about your normal life.  I then start to think of things I like about being at home, from the choice of clothing to the facilities to make a proper mug of tea!  Also, even if I have felt that I wanted to stay wherever I was, there is something really nice about getting home.  It’s the familiarity and your own creature comforts, such as your bed, your favourite armchair.  I sometimes wish I could disassociate myself more from my home but I realise that my roots are wherever my stuff is and, whether I want to or not, that is where my home is.  I guess on that basis I could make Reykjavik my home because I know I’d love to live there, but I suspect these days that I have UK roots too, though maybe that’s more to do with my mum and my friends than the UK itself.  But that’s probably another issue to explore.

This morning, I am just enjoying being home and Chris and I are planning to merely potter around.  Oh, and I do have to unpack.  Eugh!


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