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| The second Annual I bought in my new house - around five months after moving in |
Forty years ago to this very day, Thursday was Wednesday. No need to check, just trust me - I know whereof I speak. "How so?" you may enquire, despite feeling cheated on discovering that this post isn't quite so intriguing as the title may've suggested (as so few things are once they've been explained). Because forty years ago, on Wednesday, 14th June 1972, my family first moved to the house in which I currently reside. The official tenancy commencement date was actually Monday, 12th June, but I presume we couldn't book the removal van for that precise date, hence the two-day delay.
However, although having moved in forty years ago, I've only actually lived here for thirty-six years. "How so?" you may again ask - if you're still reading. Well, after living here for eleven years, we relocated to another house and area for just over four years. Then we moved back to this house again. Why? The other house was altogether far too big for us and too far away (on the outer reaches of Tatooine as one of my pals described it) for friends and family to be bothered to visit unless there was a temporary warp between dimensions - and that happened all-too infrequently.
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| The very first Annual I bought in my new house - around two or three months after moving in |
Forty years. Sure doesn't seem like it. I'll have been back in this house for twenty-five years on August 1st - more than double the amount of time I lived here the first time. Again, sure doesn't feel like it. As I've often said before, sometimes it seems that I went to bed one night as a teenager and woke up the next morning as a middle-aged adult. Where did my life go? One blink and I missed it.
One day, if it hasn't happened already, you too will wake up one morning and wonder where the last forty years of your life went. My advice to you (don't panic, it's free) is to make each and every one of them count.
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| The third book I bought in my new house - five or six months after moving in |
3 comments:
I lived in my dad's house until I was 21. Over the past 27 years, I've had a further ten addresses, five of which were flatshares. One time I had a lodger and I also lived in a hotel for a month.
The longest residency would be the first mortgaged property I had, for what felt like a very long eight years. That street appears in a terrible film called "Doomsday", a latter-day Scottish Mad Max.
I've been contemplating moving on again in recent weeks. There's something rootless in my nature.
My old home in which i grew up still features in many of the weird and wonderful Dreamscapes that comprise my nightime sleep sojourns.Whether i`m being chased by Alien entities or simply living out some mundane non-adventure,i am drawn to that familiar and comforting abode that once was my family dwelling,a safe haven and a place of steadfast belonging.Such is the strength of the relationship between our psyches and the roofs we live under during our formative years that they can never be described as just bricks and mortar.They will always be a part of us,just as we were once a part of them.
Always good to hear from the erudite 'moonmando' (and you too, Dougie), who has a winsome way with words.
Sometimes, I'll have a dream in which I walk down the stairs of one of my past houses and find myself in the livingroom of another. Or I'll walk up the front path of the garden of one house, enter, walk through the hall, out the back door - and I'm in the back garden of one of my earlier or later abodes. Dreams can be so 'elastic', eh?
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