Saturday, 23 October 2010
Seeing the Humber Bridge from the train window always signifies getting home, to me. It's always a grand sight, even during the day when you can see just how truly brown the shallow waters stretching across the mud flats of the Humber estuary are. The picture above is the same picture I take every time I come back.
I have to admit that whenever I come home I am spoiled. The fridge is always heaving with my favourite foods (thanks again Ma) and I'm allowed to lie in bed late and nap at will (today I was planning to go for a run but instead ate some quiche and fell asleep again). I have wine and whisky pressed on to me, a little den made in the spare room with blankets and dressing gowns, and the pick of the latest novels from overflowing bookshelves to slink upstairs with. Books are also pressed onto me to take home, along with hats, clothes, little bits of jewellery (mum is as much of a clothes hound and magpie as me) and usually, oddly, a selection of cheeses, to stink up the train as I go.
I haven't been here for 18 months because I don't like leaving my cats. Since I last visited, the house has been upgraded with a new garden room and bathroom, so it feels a bit like a luxury hotel. And Mia, the beloved but snooty Bengal, has even taken to sleeping on my lap and under the covers on my bed, a move that has caused some surprised drama in the household as she is a creature of routine who usually sits with my stepfather. So I'm still getting my kitty fix.
Anyway, I'm writing this with a finger of whisky in a tumbler next to me, under a blanket, in a soft cotton hoodie, with some fine books to read. (Currently Paul Auster's Brooklyn Follies: I read far too many of his books and not enough of other people's, but he is such a fine writer.) Cosiness is calling, ta ta for now.