Home really is where the heart is

I had the family over today. It’s so lovely having all the space of the house rather than our dinky old flat, but even that seems tiny when the Gibbos pile in. 

We had dinner and pudding (I showed off with a home-baked banana bread), all squished into my front room, just!

I got lost in the noise of ten concurrent conversations, each louder than the other; I laughed at the old stories we’ve all heard a hundred times before. 
Bliss. 

We popped over to the local garden centre. It must be a sign of my age because it was so exciting!

I loved choosing from the beautiful colours, tiny blooms or massive flourishes; dark leaves or light leaves; shrubs or trailing. Wandering around with a little trolley, I felt like Alice in the Wonderland garden but none of the flowers thought me a weed. 

Back home, Dad gave me the gardening 101. Basically, he did all of the he did all of the hard work and I faffed in the background while being given all the tips. It all comes down to remembering to water them!

I also had a lesson on custard – who knew there was a knack to a lump-free pudding??

Then, they piled into the car and headed off down the M62 to the homeland, and that was that. The house seems huge again but it also feels like home. 

Almost a decade after moving to the “wrong side of the Pennines”, I finally have my home and there’s nothing more special than having the family over to spend time in it. 

Feeling blessed. 

   
   

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