In which I sing about my home.
I have a notion that your neighbourhood is not where you live physically but where you live emotionally. I have moved around the UK but I still consider where I grew up and my family live to be home. Mrs G who has crossed the Atlantic seems to have the same feeling. She has now spent over 10% of her life in the UK but she is still resolutely a New Yorker.
The buildings and roads outside your door are just that, they are static objects with which we can imprint our feelings and memories and this is what creates that neighbourly feeling. But they are still buildings, it is the people who really make it.
Continue reading “The Ballad of being where”
In which I learn to share.
Knowing that Dino #2 is on the way means that we need to reconsider our accommodation arrangements. Living in a three-bedroom house is great for it will meet our minimum requirements, but the addition to the family will cause potential future issues.
I know this because I have lived through them myself, having two sisters, and it is clear that we are going to have to careful consider the room allocation for our offspring.
Throughout my childhood I lived in three bedroom houses, with one for my parents and the remaining two divided between three. Being the only son this was great, I was able to have my own room whilst my sisters shared. Considering one was tidy and one was not it is unsurprising to know that this was a constant source of comment.
Continue reading “Room to share”
In which I remember my old ‘legal’ local.
I don’t go out a lot now, a number of factors mean that I can’t be bothered to pop out to my local and have a few beers. Chief among these are the sheer hassle of trying to deal with the regular Sunday morning hangover I had while studying at college (which of course was technically illegal).
Most weekends we would head out to the pub we knew both served the cheapest drinks, and had the laxest policy on ID checks. At The Woolpack we would while away the hours until it was time to head home via the Chinese for a quick chips and curry sauce.
Now when I drive past my old haunt it looks a lot different. Where once my shoes stuck to the floor and you would be surrounded by a whiff of urea and bleach you now have this:
Continue reading “Childhood : The Bedworth Woolpack”