Running Backwards

It was very strange going back to Southampton. It wasn't different enough to be new, but wasn't the same enough to be familiar. For example, the shop that used to sell the best trousers in the world was still there, but is now selling cheap chavvy clothes instead of cheap indie clothes. And my favourite pub has been bulldozed to make room for new build flats. And yet the town centre remains identical, right down to the shop windows and the gangs of goths.

I think it proved to me that I can't go back though. Those three years were a great three years, but I couldn't recreate them even if I tried. Everything's moved on. The city, my friends, me...

Speaking of the past, I'm going up to Edinburgh this weekend to visit LadyDi, the only person from school that I keep in touch with. We were friends at school, bonding over our political opinions (and others' lack thereof) and passion for languages, and a year after we left the hellhole, we travelled round Europe together. Since then, I've only seen her twice (once at my wedding), but the bond remains via email and phone, and now I'm trekking up to see her. I'm excited. Nervous excited maybe, but excited nonetheless.

The past is a foreign country. But I've travelled to stranger places, I'm sure.