Coming Home

I drove my car for the first time today since leaving for the Isle of Man on Friday last week. My sister found me a car to drive while on the island, and while I’ve no complaints about a free car (less the cost of some diesel), coming back to the comfort and familiarity of my own vehicle was absolutely glorious. So too was the standard of driving – even though I often complain about the quality of driving here in Derby, I had honestly forgotten how bad it was on the island.

Aside from that, I was strongly reminded while there of the massive inconvenience of the road closures – for those not in the know the Isle of Man hosts road racing on the TT course twice a year. When the roads are closed, there is a single access route across the course for vehicles. Given one set of parents resides inside the course and the other set outside, we went back and forth numerous times throughout the week.

On the other hand, we were able to enjoy the familiar comforts of our childhood home – various unique takeaways, sweet shops, and of course the local ice cream – Manx dairy is far superior to the homogenised stuff you get over here in England. While I wasn’t able to partake of my favourite greasy pizza, I did return to our favourite restaurant – only to be disappointed when the epic lamb in red wine wasn’t available.

I take it as a useful lesson in the danger of too much reminiscence – having something to remember is more important than experiencing the same thing again.

Hopefully that idea will stay in my mind as we embark on not overeating or drinking alcohol for the duration of autumn. More specifically, we are to eat healthily and exercise as much as possible until at least the other half’s birthday, at which point we will permit ourselves some congratulatory liquor.

In fairness, both our waistlines have significantly expanded since moving in together a couple of years ago, to the point where we can both be described as fat. When your own, otherwise flattering, boyfriend tells you that you have unsightly rolls of fat, it’s time to do something about it.

I don’t yet know how this will affect my writing, as I have no idea whether hunger pangs or a clear head will prevail. Something tells me that it’s going to be a close call – I love my food and alcohol, but the drive to make something of my writing is a strong one.

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