Back home

Got back to Preston late last Monday. The timing was perfect, a cloud burst overhead as we took a slow trudge up the hill and away from the train station. Never has northern weather felt so good, although refreshing those squally coastal winds on the Isle of Wight play havoc with what little hair I have left. At least you know were you are with days of rain and grey skies. Down there it's bright and sunny one minute, brisk and wet the next. I can't cope with such sudden changes in weather and my Bag For Life can only accommodate one set of spare clothes. It's tricky to dress for every meteorological eventuality, no wonder my brother spends his days in the same shorts, t-shirt, welly boots and sou'wester combo. My daughter, upbeat as ever, insisted we walk to the bus stop rather than pay extra for a taxi. I think she too was glad to be back, even when she was splashed by an erratic driver going through a huge puddle on the ring road. To celebrate we decided to have a chippy tea with extra gravy and a buttered barmcake, there's no place like home.