Handmedown

I took a scenic tour of my village today - through the churchyard in which I fiercely gathered conkers on the walk to Harvest Festival at St Wilfrid's, the place where I was christened, from my primary school of the same name, where I made my first friends and learned my first lessons, and back through the streets I grew up on.
Tonight I had homemade chutney, and then sat in the pub I used to work in (shortlisted for one of the best pubs in Britain, no less) and drank strawberry beer with my ma and da, and talked and talked about everything from the river-god cult of the Mesolithic Iron Gates Gorge in Germany, to how and when they first knew that they wanted to be with each other forever. Then we came home, and made tea and fruit toast.
Coming home is always so strange; things do and don't change, and I never feel the same way twice.