* Image credit www.chestergrosvenor.com
I took a holiday in home town recently.
It was easy: walking from home to the hotel reception to check in; no resetting my watch for time zones and unpacking my wash bag in the reassuring knowledge that I could always pop home if I had forgotten my toothbrush.
It was refreshing, too.
I slipped out in the evening out for a walk around streets I know well — yet I still felt like a tourist.
I threw back the curtains the next morning to gaze up on the upper floors of the shops from my second-floor window.
I know these shops from ground level but never before had I appreciated the architectural flourishes of their upper floors, the dates elaborately carved into the stone.
It was practical, too. After years of negotiating airport queues, train delays and volcanic ash clouds, it felt good to be away yet so close to home.
Maybe we should take a holiday in our him town now and then. It was a refreshing to start a new year with a new persecutive on a place I thought I knew all too well.
I may well be back in the summer for another stay. After all, it’s just a 15-miute walk from my front door.
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