Cold Up North

Very, very cold. Driving up the M5 and M6, I felt the temperature drop the higher up the country I got. The first time I’ve been back home since Christmas, it felt like time to go back just for a little bit. I actually haven’t felt homesick this term, becoming more involved in life here has made me more secure in my new life in Cornwall, but it felt time to see my family and friends again.

So I added another 350 miles to the car’s mileage - my trip clock tells me that since January I have driven over 900 miles. By the time I get back to Falmouth on Monday it will be well over 1200. This is I think one of my little autistic traits, we all have them, mine is liking to know numbers of miles, and also miles per gallon. I can discuss mpg and fuel efficiency like a professional. I was probably over-excited about getting home on just one tank of petrol, mpg probably abut 45, and with 20 miles worth to spare. Strangely though, I seemed to have lost ten miles somewhere along the way: at Christmas it was 351 miles (not that I’m pedantic about these things…) this time, I pulled up outside my parents house 337 miles after leaving Falmouth after following exactly the same route. It bothers me more than it should.

Being away from places does make you feel more warmly towards them than you normally would. As I passed through each county on Friday evening, once I’d managed to escape the A30, I was greeting them like old friends: Gloucestershire, how are you? Worcestershire, hey, missed you, how’s things? By the time I reached Cheshire, it was getting very emotional. I got to Wirral finally, the place I’ve lived all my life apart from some brief interludes including this time in Cornwall, and something seemed different. It wasn’t the same. I realised with a shock that I hadn’t missed it. And that I would be happy not to live here any more. The ties here are family and friends. The place has lost my heart. I need to do some thinking about my future.