I have spent the best part of a week back where my parents live and also the small town where I grew up. The town is nothing special, in fact it is slightly famous for being a depressive place to live. Not much to do in the way of entertainment if you are young, several pubs, a half decent shopping precinct and a railway station.
When you have lived in cities with over ten million people, when you have traveled to some of the most beautiful places on the planet you often forget where you came from.
The past weekend I caught up with an old school friend, someone who I have not seen for a very long time. We then took part in something of a mini ‘pub crawl’ visiting several bars that I have often passed by. Many faces were seen that night, some were school friends who I had not seen for years, others were people I had never met before.
After the headache from the night had subsided in the morning I began to view the photos taken on my phone of the night, the pictures were hilarious. The night was one of pure enjoyment and fun. As I walked through the fields where I once played as a child to board my train back home I looked around, the familiar trees that we once climbed, the same goalposts where many a great goal was scored.
Some shops have long gone, some pubs have closed and many a place where we played as children have been replaced with new houses, yet one thing remains…
There is no place like home.
