Since my last posting, I sojourned to Spain and returned to a hot and sunny Brighton. My Spanish home was a beautiful beachy patch close to Alicante but far enough away from the stag and hen parties heading to Benidorm and the like. I have nothing against them per se, but leaving the ‘kiss me quick’ capital of Brighton, home to all varieties of pre-wedding celebrations, it was nice to get away from it all. No furry clip-on horns required.
It was the perfect respite. I took two books and one notebook. A selection of pens and my iPod. I read a little, wore a third of the clothes I packed, and scribbled daily. The spines of all books cracked with trapped grains of sand and loose leaves flapped about the warm breeze. Wonderful.
Whenever I travel it occurs to me that wherever you are, you are. Then, the question always arises: ‘could I live here’ or ‘is it better here or there’? I’m a traveler at heart, a gypsy. I’d be happy on the road or a static caravan. Gulp, most people’s idea of a ‘bad time’. But for me it brings forth happy memories and reminds me of simple pleasures.
I don’t need much and yet I’ve acquired stacks of stuff. My gypsy tendencies means I love to collect old, different or disregarded objects – other people’s tat. There’s a simple pleasure in old things I rarely find in the new. That’s why I could not resist a well loved, wooden ‘hand-me-down’ desk, which replaced the last desk – also a donation. This is recycling at its best. Very Brighton!
So, back to the comparison. I’m please to say that now I’m back, I can appreciate all that is unique about my home town. I’ve been here for nearly ten years and it’s hard to find another place with so much to offer. I’m not saying I’ll be here forever but for now, it’s Here that I want to be and There remains an unknown destination.