It's funny. I've been living life for the last week or so - unwittingly, I admit - by a number of maxims that are bandied around a lot amongst the very old and the very young. The kind of sayings that I learned to filter out of conversation for being so much pretentious bollocks...
Early to bed, and early to rise...
Work hard, play hard...
I've really hurled my shoulder to work in every sense. I've been working hard in the office, writing a lot at home (in the aforementioned 'early to rise' hours) and exercising a fair old bit as well, and I have to say, while it is tiring (Early to bed! SHOCK!) I feel pretty damned good on it.
Mine is the kind of contrary nature that acknowledges the way something should be done, and then lapses considerably away from that way, just to prove that I, Stuart, don't have to. Not, I, oh no. I'm the exception that proves the rule.
...only it's so much hard bloody work. Sure, I know from experience that I can be out, in Camden, say, until 2am, get up and put in a day's work. But it's a hell of a lot of effort. This way everything coasts along easily, I'm not hunkering over (either) desk concentrating on not being tired, and I am really doing well.
I'll be the first to admit that this might not last long, but hell, it's just surprised me how good I feel at this very moment.
I've been up before the sun for the last week or more, and I heard something I'd not noticed before in Hatfield. The sound of wood pigeons, hooting gently through that crisp blue light before dawn. A feeling that takes me back to one morning when, (unusually) I woke up well before it was time to get up for primary school and I lay in bed with the sun glowing around the outside of my curtains feeling incredibly comfortable, peaceful and above all, happy - that here was I, listening to the song of birds and the breeze in the trees outside my window, with a summer day ahead of me, with all sorts of things to busy me, and to tax me, but at that moment there was no need to do..anything.
Peace.
So from that morning, the sound of wood pigeons has always reminded me of home. It strikes me as something that might be true for other people as well...
What takes you home?
Guilt.
ROFL.
I was gonna say dinner, but guilt wins.
On a more serious note I'd say 'Mountains'. We always used to enjoy driving up from England watching the surrounding land rise higher and higher. That and the River Clyde. Grew up less than a mile from it, moved to England, then moved back up and cross it everyday on the train on the way to work.
BTW - did the CD arrive OK?
Windy-rainy storms, getting home to tomato soup on the stove and damp clothes drying on the maiden in front of the fire
My company car - har har!
the smell of redwoods and the ocean; fog; a certain kind of summer light; vultures.
Awww, Mr. D - now you're just being Sarky.
snow, certain runs, and particularly, falling on ice while running...
Seeing the Crystal Palace results always reminds me of home.
And being snuggled up in bed while a monster thunderstorm rages on outside the window does too.
Icicles. When I was young my family (USAF) was stationed in Keflavik Iceland. We used to knock icicles down with a broom and suck on them like they were popcicles. Of course pollution wasn't as bad as it is these days so they didn't taste funky.
The sound of the sea. Endless cups of tea and a radio tuned to the ABC.
The sound of someone playing the piano, I grew up listening to my little sister do her piano practice while I did my homework