Memories of place, held on the tongue

Cleobury Mortimer in the valley below Titterstone Clee on a sunny, clear day

I've just finished my bedtime drink. Yes, I know it's late to be posting, where I am, but I've not known what to write about all day. After my drink, I do. The drink? It was hot, organic rice milk, with a dash of honey. I found the taste oddly reminiscent of Horlicks (without the flour residue). And Horlicks, for me, always makes me think of Cleobury Mortimer.It's one of those picturesque villages of the English Midlands, with an almost unbearably twee - but absolutely real, and ancient … [Read more...]

Saying goodbye to home

MidRaeburn

The first time I really had to say goodbye to anywhere I'd called home was when I was 22 years old. It was January of 1993. Although I'd been away at university for three years, I hadn't actually moved out of my parents' home. The emotion I felt, spending my first night all alone in a strange room, cold and bare, in a house with people I'd barely met, shocked me. Of course, that was all just part of growing up, of finally becoming an adult: a necessary rite of passage. As we make our way … [Read more...]


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