Happy To Be Home

It's only when you go away that you realise how much you like the place you call home, at least, that's my view. I have just spent the week in London, within sniffing distance of Euston Station and I can say with absolute certainty that Somerset smells better, even when the air is pervaded by the aroma of cow poo.

My hotel room was on the ground floor, facing on to a busy road that feeds buses in and out of Euston terminus. The option was to have the light on in the late evening or early morning with blind open = everyone seeing everything, or, blind closed = feeling like I was in a sarcophagus but at least a private one. Mind you, I was so tired, with a minimum of 12 hours in a classroom every day, that people seeing into the room wasn't an issue - I could barely see out of my own eyelids after standing in front of double projectors, which are a bit harsh on the eyes. There was a Fire Station on the corner of the next block and if their sirens weren't going off, there was a regular blast from ambulances and police cars and vans, rushing to and from incidents; it was noisy.

The worst bit, though, was the smell of London. It's not one specific bad smell, but just bad air, full of fumes, pollution and dirt. Driving out on Friday night, I could feel the acrid effects on the lining of my nose and in my throat; how glad I am that I don't live there.

As we drove along the A40 heading out of the city, it made me realise just how lucky I am to live in such a quiet backwater. There were flats that resembled the battery cages Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall loathes so much, masquerading as "luxury apartments" because they had a minuscule balcony that allowed the inhabitants to sit and sip their G&Ts whilst gazing over the balmy view of the A40 traffic jams. Many of the blocks of flats looked more like penal institutions than homes and seeing them gave me a good kick up the bum. I may grumble about the occasional grockle who litters or the noisy oiks who honk their horns or rev engines outside the house, but what I have is so different to what I saw in London that it's hard to describe. As loathsome as it was to spend time there, I needed the reminder of how lucky I am and how I must never forget to be grateful each day for the things I have. More importantly, to be grateful for the things around me that I don't have; my environment is truly beautiful and peaceful.

As we travelled homewards, the houses decreased, the verdant fields increased and then we reached the border. There is a cutting on the A303 as you cross from Wiltshire into Somerset, with a large "Welcome to Somerset" sign beside the road. There are sloping verges and at this time of year they are dotted with large white daisies, bright, fresh and cheery. Oh, it was good to come home and the air didn't smell, yippee!

Yup, there's no denying it, I have become a country yokel and you know what's better? I don't feel in the slightest apologetic about it!