Visiting mum

 

I love going home to see my mum.

I try to visit her at least 1 weekend every month and with every step closer to my old childhood home, I regress.  I love taking in all those old sights: the library, the 281 bus, the small hill walk that feels like a mountain hike in Summer….

By the time I’m hovering on the doorstep, I’m 15 again.  Jab that key into the lock, kick my shoes off, give mum a little kiss and a squeeze before the mandatory breadbin reccy.  Launch myself into the sofa, tv on, feet up and all my adult concerns kicked to the kerb – the regression is complete.

The house is always warm and cozy; safe and familiar.  My old bedroom is tiny – memories of being hunched over my stereo and daydreaming of kissing Jim Kerr, crying over Gary Numan and lusting after Simon Le Bon’s lipstick smeared pout.  Ah, those were the days.

Come Sunday afternoon after a family lunch, I’m full of resentment with the realisation that I will have to put on that ‘adult suit’ again and make my way home, ready for work on Monday.

There really is nothing better than home and family. xxxx

 

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