It seems to me that roads are symbolic of arteries for a reason. They shift blood from one place to another, and ultimately give the heart reason enough to keep pumping.
Take me for instance. The A1 connects me here, in the softy South, to family and friends in the hardy North and has done for over 35 years. I assume its connected others for longer.
As roads go , it's more or less vertical all the way to Edinburgh. I go up on the way to my childhood home and down on my way back here, to the utmost tip of South Lincolnshire. It's approximately a 7 hour drive to my family in Fife and yet the weather changes to an extraordinary degree. The manners change, the humour changes, the scenery changes, my accent changes from here to there and back again. I go back to ground myself, to not get above my station, to remember who I am, to eat scones and to laugh- a lot. I come home to be serious and adult and capable and above all else, warm.
As I write this, it seems to be entirely understandable that I ended up here. It wasn't planned, I just got off the train for a job interview one day and thought 'Bloody hell, an English Brigadoon.' To be honest, almost 30 years later, I still think that. It's the town that hides in plain sight.
We have televised horse trials, a stately home, we were the first conservation town in England, we virtually live on a film set, have been voted the best place to live in the UK by more than one broadsheet and we are on the border of 4 counties and yet, generally speaking we slip by unnoticed despite being an hour from London on the train, despite being on no flight path and despite being being at the very least, semi-rural. The only natural tourist attraction we don't have to be honest, is the sea. It at least 80 minute drive away but that's too far for me. If you travel up the A1 in a straight line, you will end up at the sea though. Up the A1. Down the A1. A world in-between. And of course we down here have rivers and ponds and reservoirs. We do not, in any way at all, slum it in Stamford.
So you join me as I plan to leave it. I have not always been happy here but I do have wonderful memories of long hot summers, unrelenting beauty, friends and wine, wine and friends. Three beautiful children, 2 dogs, a hamster and and a bunny fill the years between. As well as a divorce of course, a death or two, work, some depression, lots of panic and this - my 5th attempt to sell our house. Or more accurately, the fifth attempt to get to completion. I won't bore you with the details, but it's long past time to leave. The house is very saleable, I just can't get over that last hurdle. Join me as I make plans to leave the only place my kids have ever called home, to go Up the A1 and onwards from there. I will have in tow my youngest (an 18 year old) and an 8 month yorkie who has entered the terrible twos in dog years.
We will stop off in Kirkcaldy to touch base with my roots and my mother who is ill at the moment and who won't get any better and then it'll all be on the throw of a dice. What will be will be. I am 53 years old on Saturday.
Take me for instance. The A1 connects me here, in the softy South, to family and friends in the hardy North and has done for over 35 years. I assume its connected others for longer.
As I write this, it seems to be entirely understandable that I ended up here. It wasn't planned, I just got off the train for a job interview one day and thought 'Bloody hell, an English Brigadoon.' To be honest, almost 30 years later, I still think that. It's the town that hides in plain sight.
We have televised horse trials, a stately home, we were the first conservation town in England, we virtually live on a film set, have been voted the best place to live in the UK by more than one broadsheet and we are on the border of 4 counties and yet, generally speaking we slip by unnoticed despite being an hour from London on the train, despite being on no flight path and despite being being at the very least, semi-rural. The only natural tourist attraction we don't have to be honest, is the sea. It at least 80 minute drive away but that's too far for me. If you travel up the A1 in a straight line, you will end up at the sea though. Up the A1. Down the A1. A world in-between. And of course we down here have rivers and ponds and reservoirs. We do not, in any way at all, slum it in Stamford.
So you join me as I plan to leave it. I have not always been happy here but I do have wonderful memories of long hot summers, unrelenting beauty, friends and wine, wine and friends. Three beautiful children, 2 dogs, a hamster and and a bunny fill the years between. As well as a divorce of course, a death or two, work, some depression, lots of panic and this - my 5th attempt to sell our house. Or more accurately, the fifth attempt to get to completion. I won't bore you with the details, but it's long past time to leave. The house is very saleable, I just can't get over that last hurdle. Join me as I make plans to leave the only place my kids have ever called home, to go Up the A1 and onwards from there. I will have in tow my youngest (an 18 year old) and an 8 month yorkie who has entered the terrible twos in dog years.
We will stop off in Kirkcaldy to touch base with my roots and my mother who is ill at the moment and who won't get any better and then it'll all be on the throw of a dice. What will be will be. I am 53 years old on Saturday.
Comments
Post a Comment