Over the Easter break I went back to my hometown of Nottingham, mainly to see the legend that is Kirky (who now even has his own blog) and to also see some young people I used to teach (and their offspring, as two of the girls have had beautiful, baby boys).
I also went back with a view to visiting some places that I’d not been to in a while that had some personal resonance with me and in visiting them I made a shocking discovery: they don’t mean much anymore.
It all felt a bit tired, distant and desperate, raking over old coals in order to garner some vague sense of long gone past adventures, trials and tribulations. I started to regret even visiting those places, it was like they didn’t belong to me anymore, war memorials and battlegrounds that were so woven into who I am that I didn’t need to visit the damn places in the first place, after all, I carry them all the time. Something felt mawkish and sentimental about the whole episode, forced entertainment.
I don’t think I’ll be going back to Nottingham for a long time and I certainly won’t be going on any self-guided tours to dig up ghosts that should’ve been laid to rest a long time ago. They need to be left there, in peace and in my heart.