When I first moved out of home with my first ‘proper’ job, I don’t remember how long it took for my first flat to feel like home. It was certainly the first time I had ever had to consider the advantages of one type of floor covering over another, or had to discuss the pros and cons of tile splash backs over glass. Even as a student, my parents seemed to have played a large part in choices to be made; possibly they were getting rid of sundry items of furniture, or was it just that their car was big enough to hold a particular armchair? By the time the children arrived, I was definitely more attuned to the game of furnishing ‘our home’, part and parcel I’m sure of the whole ‘nesting instinct’. I can still vividly recall the terracotta front room we had in our first house, and the deep green of our second (finished late one Christmas Eve, slightly the worse for wear and painting around the tree, not behind it!). These colours are also fresh in the minds of our children and linked inextricably to memories of growing up. We were in our last house for well over ten years – how long would it take for a new place to feel like home? Perhaps some time spent away from the house would renew our perspective?
The last week has involved much travel, mainly by car (though both the writer her indoors and I have enjoyed excellent train experiences too – a chance to sit and read/listen to music, trains running on time, no traffic jams on the M25). I was looking forward to returning to London for the first time properly since moving out -a chance to catch up with former work friends and to be back in the smoke. Whilst it was an absolute delight to meet up, it did feel strange going back to where I used to work. A lovely evening of chatting was filled with the sense that I just did not miss the work at all and that retiring from the profession was ‘definitely a good thing’.What was equally a delight was pulling in to the station nearest to our house, to be met by the writer and then walk back in to the kitchen and warm myself by the Aga.
Driving to visit children #2 and 3 at their respective universities also re-affirmed the nightmare that British roads can be, when journeys that should take 2 hours last 3 and a half (why do I ever drive anywhere near Stoke on Trent?), to say nothing of the constant tailgating (don’t people take any notice of tv ads?), or the overpriced petrol and coffee in many service stations. We did however, love the road across the Northumberland moors, atmospheric, with the cloud cover at 100% and falling to cover the road ahead – we might even have spied Vera’s car beside a deserted field…Again, though, the moments of familiarity with the rolling hillsides in our area and the breathtaking views from many stretches of road confirmed that our journey was bringing us home, content in our choice of village and of house.
So different experiences over the last week have merely served to confirm that, within three months of moving in, we have settled and really found a place that encompasses all that a home should be…
Eating: Pan fried salmon with wilted wild garlic (foraged – I’m so happy!) and new potatoes, baked in brown lemon butter, sauce verte. Recipe from Skye Gyngell, apart from the new potatoes, which was from the Guardian.
Drinking: Grüner Veltliner, from Waitrose – a nice change from Sav blanc and Viognier!
Listening to: As a result of my efforts over the last two weeks to listen to complete albums, Aztec Camera‘s cover of Jump on Knife made me start thinking about covers – current favourites are Ben Watt‘s version of Dylan’s Gonna make me lonesome when you go and Take Yo’ Praise by Camille Yarbrough, used by Fatboy Slim for Praise You.
Cook.Eat.Blog.Repeat. 