England is famous for its seaside holidays. Long before cheap flights to Spain and elsewhere English seaside towns and resorts were the target each summer. We moved as a family to the small Kent seaside town of Hythe when I was just short of my 10th birthday. In those days we still had holiday makers on those glorious summer days and the equally wet ones.
Now in my late 40s I'm back in Hythe. Christmas is almost upon us. My journey passed without too much incident and I'm rushing around with preparations. A large joint of gammon is braising cider. I spent £40 on cheese, dad has lots of wine, the potatoes are bought, the presents are to be wrapped and now just essential subsistence food and vegetables to be purchased.
Beka is full of cold which is very bad timing. I'm off to her mum's shortly to deliver the cheese. And Miriam and Nigel arrive tomorrow. Despite being pretty organised for me my sleep was mightily impaired by those little anxieties that so impact at a time such as this. But for all those anxieties I know it will all work out on the day.
The seaside vibe that those people flocked to long ago is not really in evidence on a windy and gloomy day. But those of us who spent years in these parts gather back together in the season of goodwill.
Last time I was here there were little pangs of wanting one day to return to these parts. Maybe that will happen. Should that ever occur the moving nature of time, people and places will dictate that it will not be as it once was. Come next September a decade will have passed since I moved on. Where will I be in another decade when I'm approaching my 60s? Fate or God may know that, I do not. The grim days of my madness made me believe that I would never get better. Now I relish so much in a way I did not then. Time robs us of some things but gives us others.
For those in preparation for the big event, I hope things run smoothly and no doubt I will put a Christmas message up on Sunday.
I Heard a Voice.
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