Well the last two days have been like a journey back in time. The car was in for an MOT today and by some miracle received a clean bill of health, which required a trip back to Galleywood to drop it off last night. So, after a late stay at the office, I trudged the increasingly familiar route back to Euston Square (still no Central Line), trained home and dropped the car off on mum’s driveway, after a quick trip home for clothes.

I’d already decided that it would be better if I stayed there for the night and then rode into Ingatestone the following morning to pick up the train one station further down the line.

The only times I ever stay over there are when they are on holiday, so it’s just me and the cat and the howling of the foxes out in the meadow. Last night, though, there was the three of us (plus cat and foxes) and all the familiar sounds of other people in the house that were such a part of daily life when I still lived there, came back and brought memories with them.

I slept better than I have in weeks. The moment I switched out the light I was unconscious on the pillow, waking at half six, and then again an hour later to the cacophony of birdsong out the window. Living in the town it’s easy to forget how loud the birds can be on an early spring morning. I sat in, propped on the pillows, and looked out across the lawn and the meadow to the hedgerow at the back on a scene filled with playful birds going about their morning business.

Starlings and sparrows on the nut machine. A woodpecker, black and red, on the trunk of the tree, and down by the stump where the vipers live sat fat pigeons, far enough from the house to have a head start on the cat should it decide to run out and attack.

Mum drove me into Ingatestone and dropped me off in the market square where I retraced steps I’ve not walked in ten years, since I was fresh out of school and looking forward to university. Little had changed, save for the arrival of some overpriced new houses; the train service still enjoyed as few trains as ever.

There were no calls during the day, which is a good sign, so I wasn’t too surprised to come home and find the car had squeezed through the MOT - just. I was warned that it would be unlikely to make it next time, though. The rust is starting to take hold and could not easily be reversed. Time to start thinking about a replacement. I’ve always rather fancied a camper van.

I wangled a lift back to Galleywood, to find dinner waiting, and once again it was like coming home from school. I dropped my bag in the hallway, tickled the cat and sat down with a cup of tea in front of the TV, where the three of us stayed all evening watching Bond films on TV.

And here I am again, back at home, transported ahead 10 years into the future. No longer coming home from school, but thinking about the 10am meeting I have tomorrow morning, but which I don’t know where to go for because the email I needed never arrived, and about the pages that need editing by the end of the day to make sure I hit my deadline, and about the inevitable walk walk walk from the edge of the Circle Line to the centre of the city.

Time to sleep.

Goodnight.

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