I’ve returned from my Christmas break, back to ‘my’ house. Those apostrophes are there because really, it’s not my house. It’s the house of Terry Kirkham, the landlord. The house I had before that belonged to Mr Agawhal. The one before that? Same deal, different name.
This isn’t the Englishman’s grouse against renting. I believe renting housing can be a good thing, but I’ve not had that experience. And what throws my experiences up into sharp relief is going to the one place I call home. Not my house, but my home – where I feel I live, even though I’ve been in Newcastle for nearly seven years now.
Those other places? The ones I mentioned above? Just places to camp for the night. Makeshift. Uncomfortable, but you put up with it because you are just passing through.
