Bank Holiday weekend in Devon

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On Thursday after finishing work, I frantically ran along the streets of London, dragging my pink little suitcase along behind me, to catch my train home.

I spent the majority of the journey reading or looking out of the window. As I got closer to my destination the sun had begun to set producing beautiful colours in the sky.

On Friday my Mum and I carried out one of our traditions, a medium skinny late and a cup of decaf tea, accompanied by a devonshire cream tea at our local Marks and Spencer’s cafe. When my Grandma was alive we would go to M&S because it was a convenient place to go with a wheelchair and she was a big fan of their lattes. We would sometimes go twice a week and I would enjoy gossiping with my Grandma and Mum over our drinks.

Now it is just the two of us but I am glad we are still able to carry on the tradition and I always think of my Grandma when I go there.

One evening we walked along the seafront and I watched the lights from the fairground whizz around and heard the distance screams from the reckless youngster as they enjoyed the rides. I spent many years amongst the hustle and bustle of that fairground. I once even got hit over the head by one of the travellers. I loved the dodgems.

We spent the following day wandering around the little town and eating lunch by the harbour.

It was nice.

However, this trip home has been quite an emotional experience. Whilst here I have had to move all my possessions out of my room and into the loft. I had to sort through many boxes and found lots of old photos along the way. I no longer have my room in my parents house. I am assured that there will always be a place for me here but to no longer have a room filled with all my familiar things is a big wake up call.

I am not sure why this was such a shock to me because over the last five years I haven’t really lived at home. After finishing school I moved my things to Liverpool but I soon moved them back a few months later when I no longer lived in halls. This process repeated when I moved to Bristol and carried out my degree there.

Each year, when the summer hit my belongings came back home and slotted into their original places that had been left empty whilst I was away. I always left many of my possessions that were not essential to living, they were more memorabilia items from various points in my life, on my shelves.  I had big collaged photos in frames on my walls and some random clothes that I didn’t always wear in my wardrobe.

During the time I was away I did not think about these items but I always enjoyed returning home to find them in the places I had left them. To look at the photos on my walls and be reminded of all the fun I had whilst growing up. My room was some sort of time warp and on every return I would be transported back to life as a teenager. It always felt safe being back in my room knowing my parents were around and my possessions all had a home. I knew I always had a place to run to when my life in Bristol sucked or when London life got to lonely or busy.

It makes sense that my sister moves into my room (as it is the bigger one) whilst she lives at home for a while to save some money following the completion of her degree. Her old room is going to become a second lounge.

‘I’m going to get a quality sofa bed so you will be able to sleep on that if you come back.’ said my Mum.

A sofa bed.

It all just suddenly hit me that I am expected to be a grown up. I have reached a point in my life were I should not need a room in at my parents. The safety net of having a place to run to if anything goes wonky should no longer be needed.

During the last five years it never felt like I had moved out. Whenever I caught a train from University to go back to Devon I always made a Facebook status like ‘returning home for Christmas’ but from now on I will be going to my parents to sleep on a sofa bed. I will feel like a guest that they have to accommodate for by popping up the temporary bed.

I always know that my Mum and Dad will be there for me but I have finally, officially moved out of the family home. My memorabilia is all boxed up and my walls are bare due to lack of photo frames filled with my photos. There are just hooks left from where they hung.

Weird.

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