Yesterday we visited our old home town Twickenham in south-west London. We were collecting my daughter who’d been staying with an old schoolfriend, David had an appointment and the boys came along too. Now, I was brought-up to be punctual, plan a journey, leave with time to spare, but over the years, being married to my laid-back husband and with three children in the mix, this has gone totally out of the window. Why leave in plenty of time when you can leave late, have a stressful journey, have to phone ahead to apologise for being late, have back seat drivers telling you quite authoritatively (although they’ve never driven, are too young to drive) that changing lanes in slow-moving traffic on a motorway is pointless?
Well, we eventually arrived, dropped David off (he was the one who was late), then had a little drive round past the children’s old school, the park where they used to play, the streets where we lived. It’s a strange feeling being in a place that’s so familiar but is no longer home.
What keeps us connected to it are our friends – those lovely people we’ve known since the children were babies. We’ve seen our children grow up together, been through the trials and tribulations of life for many years. I do miss these friends and it is so good to see them, to slip into that familiar, easy conversation. And seeing the children – how they’ve all grown! There’s nothing quite like seeing kids you haven’t seen for a while to realise how time is rushing by.
We had a lovely day, chatting, laughing, catching up, making plans to see each other again soon, then it was time to return to our new home. It’s taken us all varying amounts of time to feel rooted here but we’ve made new friends, the children are thriving at their new schools, we have fabulous countryside and views around us, we’ve put our stamp on this house and have a garden to play and grow in. It’s good to be home.