Sheffield - Oh I have been wondering....

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cycling home from town, unable to whistle or sing the words of ‘Sophia’ that repeatedly bump around like a needle in a stuck record, I hum – like my granddad letting the sounds spill over and over the handle bars relaxing into knowing what feels good. because for weeks, I have wondered why I am back here, and looking at this city, you would also wonder - but life is slowly falling into the cracks of some kind of belonging.

I have become a mongrel of place, really at home nowhere.

a week can start from quiet tears and forced activity trying to fit in to turning upside down ending with laura marling standing taut like a thin column exposing everyone of us to her unassuming, gentle, powerful all consuming singing right here in Sheffield.

everything can change on a feeling.

I saw the young woman, who has always lived inside the radio, 20 yards away in a canny God’s house where once people rushed to be near Him but now they queue to sit nearest to a talented musician. don’t touch the tiny figure of the woman, always looking up to the vaulted ceiling, sparingly speaking words in between yet with seeming ease turning into a soulful singing goddess.

my week was quietly good, peppered with highlights. connecting with a good friend whom I greatly admire. She walked in to my house with her orange hair elegantly set high, laughing at life the way she always does, instantly putting my haphazard style in to shade.

but we can really talk.

the conversation flipping back and forth, interrupted with excitement, looping round again because this friendship has almost forty years of contact and knowledge.

then, in the same day, an impulsive invite ends with meeting up with friends to see a dance piece that laughed and swung us back to 2005 when we were all in dance – somehow. don’t forget me – never.

my lodger has gone, leaving in dispute over the stabbing of a fridge. my home is my own again. my mother calls, we are beginning to understand each other.

the bed is full of books and papers. the words stick to the sheet with the hairs from the cat. the cat makes noises that can be mistaken for little snores or pants, or just annoying breathing. if I touch her to make her stop, she will burst into deep guttural purring which is more noise. I still want a dog.

now, on Sunday, I know that these are a few of the very best and favourite reasons why I am back.

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Photos

sunning and raining
last garden rose