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Hard as it is for me to believe, today is a whopping 52 years since my family first moved into the house in which I now reside. There were four of us back then, though I now stay by myself as all potentially eligible women realise I'd be too difficult to live with. Perhaps they know they'd never be able to meet my high standards and see me as too much of a challenge - or it could be that I'm just an ugly old buggah who doesn't appeal to them. You decide - not that I care a jot one way or another. (I'm quite comfortable with my own company.)
Anyway, as I was sitting contemplating that fateful day back in 1972, trying to remember my impressions of moving to yet another new home (my fifth in 13-and-a-half years), it suddenly dawned on me that I never spared a thought for the house we'd just moved from (or my old room), and never really missed it until around 12-odd years later when we'd flitted to yet another new house. I've shared my speculations as to why that might be with you before so I won't bother again this time around, but I find myself surprised by the fact.
But wait a minute - didn't I say my family moved in here 52 years ago? So what's all this talk of another house? Simple. As regular readers will be (painfully) aware, after 11 years here we moved once more, then just over four years later, moved back again. On August 1st I'll have been back here for 37 years, though that time span doesn't seem one whit longer than our first term in the house. 37 measured against 11 - how can they both feel of virtually equal duration? (No point asking me, 'cos I don't know.)
Anyway, not much to this post, but I didn't want the anniversary of my arrival here to pass unacknowledged. I still find it strange that I acclimatised to my new surroundings practically immediately, with nary a thought for my old house - a house which now has such a significance to me, lo, these many years later, that I often feel I could live there again. Having said that, I feel like that about every place I've ever lived in. I guess I'm just getting old, and one's youth always seems to grow more appealing in retrospect.
If this strikes a chord with anyone, do please feel free to leave a comment.
12 comments:
I grew up in a cul-de-sac in a village in South Wales and there was a neighbouring older boy called John Lang. I remember being about four years old and sitting in my little pedal car when John Lang pushed me down a hill and left me crying my eyes out which he thought was funny. John Lang was killed in a motorbike crash, aged 17, on July 17th 1974 so it'll soon be the 50th anniversary of his death.
You'll be glad to know, Kid, that the latest episode of Dr Who doesn't involve the Doctor kissing any men but the plot does involve the Doctor's grand-daughter Susan though this turns out to be a red herring. The episode also features Bonnie Langford as an older (former companion) Mel and it was the first of a two-parter.
I hope you weren't pushing his motorbike (with him on it) down a hill at the time of his accident, CJ. Black humour aside, that's sad about him being killed - did you ever get to know him better before he died? And will you be raising a glass to him on the day?
I've given up caring about Dr. Who now and won't be watching again until (or if) it returns to normal. Just think - all the dosh that Disney has pumped into the show and it's nothing more than a huge pile of pish for 'wokeys'. I wish they'd just cancel it and put the show out of its (and our) misery.
Kid, John Lang was nine years older than me so no I didn't get to know him better. The pedal car incident and his premature death are the only two things I recall about him - I can't even remember what he looked like. I remember the date of his death because I saw it on his gravestone and it stuck in my mind as I've got a good memory for dates. I won't be raising a glass to him but I've mentioned him here so that'll have to do.
Well, at least you took the time to look at his gravestone, CJ, so his death must've saddened you to some degree. I've got a good memory for faces, which comes in handy 'cos my shaving mirror's broken.
Have you ever tasted strawberry-flavoured Ribena, Kid? I hadn't but I bought a bottle in Tesco on Saturday and it's nice. It makes a change from blackcurrant Ribena but I also bought a bottle of Tesco's own-brand quadruple-strength blackcurrant squash.
Are you followibg the election? Apparently the SNP might lose all their seats.
I'm not sure whether I have or not, CJ, though it sounds familiar so I might've tasted it before. Nah, not following the election, I never do 'cos they all lie through their teeth about everything. Chancers all! The SNP deserve to lose all their seats, but that doesn't mean I think any other particular party deserves to win them.
So do you consider any particular house you stayed in as your true "home" I couldn't agree more 're the elections, all parties are a disgrace and have been shown to be self serving . For the first time ever I may not vote.
That's actually a more complicated question for me to answer than you might imagine, McS. For a long time, even after I first moved here in '72, I tended to regard the first house I remember as being my 'true' home and used to make little pilgrimages along to it quite often and regularly. My current house is the one I've been in longest (48 out of the last 52 years) and I have no plans to move, so I guess I must regard it as at least one of my 'true' homes. Tough one, though I probably regard them all as my true homes at the end of the day.
Oh, and hope you're getting better - nice to see you venturing 'out to play'.
Chess, slowly getting stronger again .
Good to hear it, McS. Take care.
Incidentally, McS, I sometimes have unbidden dreams in which my family and me have moved back to one of our previous homes, and at first I'm overjoyed to have done so. Then I realise that I'll never see the interiors of my current home again and suddenly start to panic at the thought. Although we're in another house, the tenancy on this one has yet to expire (as has happened in real life, as we once moved into a new house while the tenancy of our old one still had around a month to run), so I plead with my parents to return to it, or transfer the tenancy to me so that I can. Sometimes I dream about us having moved to an entirely new house, and I plead with them to change their minds and return to our old one (my current home). I usually awaken before the situation is resolved, but the sense of relief I experience when I realise it was only a dream is palpable. I guess that tends to suggest that I subconsciously regard this house as my 'true' home. Fact is though, I'd like to own every house I've ever lived in.
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