Ireland Day 1 – Home

I’d underestimated the decompression required to ascend from the depths of my vocation to the surface. Home was where I found myself thinking of other homes, some comfortable, some austere, all fleeting

A backlog of house and book keeping to clear, the delays awaiting top box catches were helpful to me but eating into the 3 weeks that I’d set aside. Cometh the package, cometh the departure, ParcelFarce tired of disappointing and delivered. I fitted the catches and headed for a very very late breakfast at the Ace.

Never one for the direct route I headed down to my childhood home in New Alresford, where the house that I once lived in is now a twee estate and the malt house converted into flats. I stopped in the broad street where the fair used to be every year and marvelled at how little had changed. Time is an arrow and returning to the place is a poor substitute for the impossible journey that we sometimes long for.

Onwards, ever onwards, on the A31 I ploughed on to Wimborne where I was long overdue to visit my university friend Simon. Pictured here out on a spree in a land far far away/ago.

Simon has a fantastic bungalow filled with automative and acoustic accumulations. He made me very welcome, fed and watered (beered) I began to shake off the seemingly ever present, so unnoticed, background stress of living and working in London.