Home-home is where you can simultaneously pig out on Belivta breakfast soft bakes, in bed with a book, perhaps play some Lego Harry Potter and replace your blood with sugary cups of tea. Because really; if you cannot do what you want or eat what you want when you go home-home, then when/where can you?
Coming home is one of my favourite times of the month. I am literally like a kid at Christmas, leaving out beer and sweet mince pies for Santa – and a carrot for Rudolph of course – when it comes to the night before I am reunited with my cat and dog… And my mom and brother.
As I say, I do try to book an extortionately-priced train ticket home every single month – whether it be just for a short weekend or for an extended-stay over a holiday such as Easter. It’s a 4-hour journey from my flat to my home-home and there are always some connection problems in York, but the prospect of escaping Manchester and reconnecting with my family is enough to keep me sane. As well as a good book of course – February’s journey involved me diving into Elizabeth Gaskell’s ‘Mary Barton’ – and a Costa soya vanilla latte to accompany. Hashtag am I the pinnacle of basic?
Arriving home and lying in my squishy bed, taking advantage of our amazing bath and raiding the pantry always makes me nostalgic, as well as fat. When I am home-home, I always find myself trawling through my old school yearbook and giggling about what pictures me and my friends used or what quotes we generously decided upon. I really miss the times I would see my best pals in the whole squiggly world every day. I vividly remeber the nights we would head on down to a house party, down various flavours of Bulmers cider, sit up to watch Ice Age and listen to ‘Careless Whisper’ being belted out on kareoke. The pain of not being able to transport myself into the past is real.
I miss home. I miss my dog, Moss and my cat, Mog. I miss my beautiful mother and my brother. I miss my best friends and I miss the fun we used to have on the regular. I miss my first job and I miss how simple things were back in the day before I moved to uni and had to pay RENT and buy my own biscuits and mini-cheddars. In all honesty – I miss living at home, and I do not realise how strong the feeling is until I step over the threshold.
I might be 21, but I am far from grown-up, and I am not sure that when my mooching into higher education is officially concluded that I will be ready to grow-up either. Maybe an extended stint at home would do me good? Maybe it would drive me insane? Waking up to my dog licking my face everyday does not seem like too bad of a shout to me, I must admit!
When times get tough, there really is nothing better than running home to mom. A cuddle, a tea, a good nights sleep and a walk in the countryside is definitely all I need to perk up my spirits again. Perhaps I am not ready to let go of home comforts or my inner-child OR my tendancies to indulge in nostalgia. If that is the case then MORE TIME IN BED WITH MY DOG IT IS.