About two weeks ago, the East Riding of Yorkshire, where I live,
was announced officially "in drought"...
Since which day, it hasn't stopped raining!
I must be honest... I preferred drought.
Hull is pretty much the rainiest place on earth (in my incredibly limited experience of earth)
but it's been a home to me for the last almost four years now,
and despite spending my entire 20 minute walk to work yesterday cursing my umbrella for not being strong enough for the crazy weather here, I've grown to like it.
A little piece I've been working on.
In these months leading up to getting married, I've been thinking a lot about where home is and where home will be, and I can't help come back to the favourite old cliche that home is where the heart is.
My parents have moved since I left for University, so I've never lived where they live now, yet I still find myself calling a visit to my parents "going home", because ultimately, my parents will always be my home.
My best friend recently moved down to London,
where I've only been a handful of times in my life,
and yet I find myself yearning to go and see her in a way that only feels like home-sickness.
When I left for Hull, it was a pretty big culture shock...
It's not rare for me to see a man walking his dog while sipping a bottle of vodka,
and I remember being fairly taken aback by the local crazy we had near my last house in Hull who would stand on our street in his boxers wielding a hammer!
Yet something here is home.
Home is where my fiance and I live just a few minutes apart.
Home is where we intend to take our vows and live together for the first time.
Home is where I can work as a counsellor supporting women who have been hurt.
Home is where my church is.
Home is close enough to my brother and sister-in-law to go for Sunday lunch once in a while.
Home is where the heart is.