Camping
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.
