You know when people talk about 1980 something, the year of the heatwave and you think, that’s great, but those don’t exist anymore, especially not in England. Summer 2016. Finally, I can refer to 2016 in 10 years time as the year of the heatwave too. Not one, but a succession of them, sparking BBC articles covering how best to get sleep in a heatwave, causing runways to melt and train tracks to be deemed too hot for use. For me, it meant being able to spend the whole day under the sun umbrella, sapphire blue skies with cotton candy clouds, and frying my phone if I accidentally left it in the sun too long.
You’ve been driving around for hours, your whole body aching from the constant jarring and bumping. The heat is intense, the sun beats down on you unmercifully, easily finding its way through the open vehicle. Every bush, every tree, every leaf is starting to look the same, a blur. Suddenly, something catches your eye, something is out of place. What have you spotted?
I realised that this was probably the last birthday I’ll spend at home. Home. That’s a loaded word, with so many meanings. Having a place to call home is important to so many of us, some people spend their whole lives searching for one. Having never lived in one place for more than three years, one might argue that I have never really had a home, many houses maybe, many places passed through, always transient.
