It’s a Saturday morning here in London, just before 9am. I’m going to get my hair cut later on; it’s in my eyes and although this does obviously not affect my vision (i’m blind), it’s bloody annoying. Problem is, I haven’t been home on a Saturday for literally ages, and so have completely lacked the time to actually visit a hairdresser…
That’s what I’m going to talk about today: being at home. Sitting here on a Saturday morning in my own bedroom is literally messing with my mind. Almost every Saturday now, i’m out from the crack of dawn (often before) until at least mid-afternoon, if not later. whether I’m out playing sport, seeing friends or helping out with charities and organisations for the blind and visually impaired, i’m always out doing something or other, somewhere in the country, very rarely less than 100 mi from home. I like that though, I really really do – I wouldn’t change that for anything.
Today, however, I’m home. i’m not just popping off to the train station and travelling for 6h, or casually bording a train to Scotland, Wales or Yorkshire (three lovely countries); I’m not even going into my local town to shop… Nope, i’m home. And to be honest, it’s really confusing. Like, what the hell did I do 3, 4, 5 years ago when I wasn’t at the heart of a full-on social calendar? My mum says that I just slept, or watched YouTube all day, and whilst those two relaxing activities do sound quite tempting, I honestly can’t believe I did that all day, and didn’t get out and about like I do now.
Weirdly, it’s the little things that I miss right now – the things that don’t even register in my mind on the days on which I travel. I miss my shoulder bag, slung over my left shoulder, even when on a train (this is England darling, we allocate train seats on a first come, first served, fight for your right kinda basis). I miss people waching – well, listening -, when you observe the people around you, either on the train or on the platform, in a coffee shop or waiting outside the loo, and wonder what their story is: where they’re going, why they sound so excited, why their travelling alone, or why they’re travelling in a large group, and how they discovered they liked choclate on the cappuccino. I miss that unbeatable feeling of stepping off a train in a completely new place, and having the ability to reinvent yourself, away from your hometown, away from everything else, greeted in this new place by a welcoming smile, your friends, and a set of ticket gates, at which point you realise you binned your ticket along with your empty bottle of orange juice back in London.
Home doesn’t feel like home used to; it’s almost like a constant – like it’s always here, but I drop in and out to collect bags or suitcases, and that’s it. At the same time, though, it’s not sad as such. Confusing, yes, but not sad. I don’t know… Life, eh?