Never Make Assumptions

Isn’t it good when, based on whatever particular biases have built up over the years, assumptions are turned on their heads.

Having bounced around various homes in Kenya, and then again in England, for the past 61 years – blimey that number looks big when it’s written down – I have to admit that, for the first time I actually feel like I am home.

Kenya, from memory – and that can never be entirely trusted – was a warm glow. The variety of homes in England, with short, medium and longer stays all had their positives, and negatives.

London certainly had its plusses, both married and single. Big city, the GLC – for those who can remember that far back – what’s not to like. But home? Not really.

Bristol was the same. Great city, splendid mix of buzz and chill, family, child, dog. A good life, mostly. But home? Again not really.

And then to a town by the sea – well Bristol Channel – and almost immediately the relaxed sigh – I am home.

And it’s not easy to quantify the reasons why. Certainly being near water is a plus – inherited from my mother. Easy access to the daily necessities, and easier access to the warmth of people who I care about, also adds to the positive.

But it is also down to the cover definitely not being the whole book.

Behind the pretty, the quaint, and the conservative, there is a vibrancy, an alternative, a community, and a real and palpable social responsibility.

I have tried throughout my life not to jump to conclusions about places, or their people. And in the last few days I have taught a valuable lesson in sticking to that.

This town cares. About itself, about its people – and that means all its people. And the easy classifications just don’t apply. If it was a Venn diagram, with all the small overlayed and overlapping circles that would exist, there is one that surrounds them all.

And that is why this feels like home.

The feet were getting a little tired. So thank you Clevedon.