Let's trust in the little ones

Still at home. I must say that it's still being very therapeutic. I spent yesterday evening and a lot of today in London seeing an old friend. It seems like she's been away for as long as I can remember, and although she's been working in the capital for a month or two now I haven't had the chance to see her. It made the prospect of moving away from Scotland even more complicated, now that she's rekindled my interest in London. This was initially nipped in the bud by the London-skeptic crowd resident at the RSAMD. Little was I to know about the harsh feelings towards the scene down there until I touched the water a few months in to my time at the Academy, when I discovered the strong sentiments evident in many peers. However this would never stay me from moving or studying there, or at least giving it a try. What would keep me in my place is the chaotic life, and dependency on a regular income that is required there. There is just no way that anyone without a decent salary could even afford to stay there for a month or two. That and the fact that just getting from A to B is a major expense and hassle for the city dweller. Despite these two glaring barriers to my move, I would still consider it because it offers an unprecedented array of... well everything you could possibly ever want or imagine in terms of material possessions and entertainment. Plus it's near to many people I know, and my family if I want to endure weekend trips to rural parochialism.

It's funny when someone's been away for so long, how you slip back into talking about things that happened so long ago with a sense that it really was only last week. We reminisced about trips to the pub as if we could just walk in there right now, almost as if we still lived around the corner and everyone was still there that we knew. We ate chinese food in china town, had a truly abysmal bottle of wine - we tried to send it back but were told it was just 'like that' - and then proceeded to a very English pub for a few pints of imported lager and chit chat. A most pleasing evening in all, and we trekked back to Brixton to kip in a most surprising house. I can't really find words to describe the ambience of it, but it was just so very 'London'. Painted white staircase - very shiny, slanting door frames and a stained glass front door panel. It seemed to remind me of many houses I've been in before, but from a long time ago. I'm not sure what it was that made it so familiar, but perhaps it was something about the staircase. I remember visiting a friend of my parents' house in Brighton, which had four floors, and a similar winding staircase with woven, rough carpet that only covered the centre section, and was held down by brass fittings. There was something about the way that the rooms had a different layout on every floor, and it had a lived-in feeling that you felt extended for several centuries. I think that's the type of property I'd like to own when I get to the appropriate time in life. Somewhere I feel I can do justice to the previous owner's efforts, and somewhere that has a little history and mystery. It's almost like it's the quintessential townhouse that I would like, on a street that's just far enough away to not be city centre, but close enough to not be on the periphery. Somewhere that I could have as a base that I could return to at any time, without the necessity of having to feel I lived there.

Having said this, I'm sitting in a little cottage in rural Sussex, under the eaves in the study, which used to be my first bedroom in this house until my brother moved out and I could have the bigger room. Times have not changed as much as I'd ever expected since we moved here. I remember sleeping soundly through the big storm in 1989 in this room, then being in the next room watching the water proceed during the flooding a couple of years later. We've been through a lot, this house and this family, and since my parents are thinking of putting the house on the market again in a few weeks, I thought it due for a little reflection of the times I've been here. I think my favourite memories are sitting in the patio at the back and drinking coke in the blazing sunshine in the summer, or having that party on my 17th birthday where everyone stayed over and slept in the bouncy castle. I remember driving the sit-on mower around the garden when we first came here and it still worked (long since disposed of now), and when we had ducks for many years in the garden, and having fresh duck eggs almost every morning and them being like nothing else I've ever tasted.

My niece was here today for dinner, and my mum, my brother, my niece and I all walked up to the duck pond in the village and then along to the church. I reflected that I must have done this same walk when we first moved to Merston when I was about the same age as Chloe is now, and must have had about as much fun feeding the ducks that she had today. It's funny how things change, and others stay the same, that we still rely on the same activities, but for different reasons. I feel like I should stay here to carry on the legacy, show my children the duck pond and drive them around the garden on a tractor, but then I remember that my parents moved about a lot, and it's only _my_ family home, and not theirs too. Which makes me think that maybe it's time to wipe the slate clean again, forget the past and look to the future with a new house, a different style of life and a renewed maturity. Not that it's even my house, but I still feel that this is our family house since this is where we spend Christmas, and where I return to home-home when I want to get away from things.

But enough reminiscing, I've got 'Selva', 'Crisma', the electro project and the Synthesis Project to worry about, not to mention 'Thing' are having a gig the week after next. Better get my busy socks back on (Spanish nuovo style), and tackle those much needed tasks. Let's go and make a list... first: eat rest of Easter eggs.