I sat at my PC last night, eager to make my blog entry about my journey home. It was about 10pm. Mirinda was fast asleep (still getting to grips with her jet lag) and the house was quiet. I typed a couple of sentences then realised I’d fallen asleep as my head hit the keyboard. I decided to go to bed.
After about ten hours sleep, I was alert and ready for the day. It was cold, the sky was very blue, it was lovely. The poodles went mad when I went downstairs – something I’ve seriously missed.
I stood at the kitchen window, waiting for the kettle and realised just how terrible the back garden looked. Mirinda had described it in a text to me as resembling the desolation of Smaug. She wasn’t wrong. It looked unloved, uncared for and unpleasant.
After discussing the plans for the day, we eventually went up to Farnham for a coffee at Cote Brasserie. The park looked grey and dull but I loved it. The day had also gone from blue to grey but this didn’t matter at all. Everywhere around us was the smell of rotting vegetation.
This is one of the smells which I remember from when we first arrived, late in February. It is strongest out in the country, wandering the lanes, across the empty fields. It is the result of vegetation rotting in waterlogged fields, of cows and horses fertilising fields, of the British countryside. I love the earthy naturalness of it. And now, it smells like home.
Walking the poodles around the park, we stood and looked out at the misty, greyness and Mirinda commented how anyone who’d seen us a week ago, bathed in sunlight and warmth, would wonder why we were glad to be home. I don’t. I love being home.
I’m just adding this photograph because I like it. Mum took it the day I left. It shows me just back from the pool.