This is it. It's our maiden voyage home. Or not home. England. Wherever.
It's a bit scary, I have to say. I've been jumpy and touchy and snapping for the last few days (my family probably can't tell the difference to me in my normal state, but I can). There's so much to do, so many people to see, so many conversations to conduct. How can I pack 17 years into 2.5 weeks? I'm not a magician.
After many years away from Durham, our home for a decade, we learned how to visit. We joyfully see the people we must see: the critical core. Then we can add in others as a sort of rotating treat. We know what things we have to do: walk in Flass Vale; play in our old street; wander along the river beneath the Cathedral; pop in to see Sting (well, it happened once). I'm looking forward to our visit there with pure pleasure, except for the long drive. But returning to Brighton for the first time feels so overwhelming that it's really scary. I want to see everyone, do everything, recapture the feeling of living there.
I'm afraid I won't be able to leave again.
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