Having been born and bred in cities it’s been extremely strange moving to such a small town (comparatively) as Bournemouth, & the surrounding area. The streets are wide and empty; the populace drives about in cars; the public transport is piteable and the amenities laughable. But there’s one thing in which Bournemouth really holds its own above anywhere else I’ve been in the UK – admittedly few – and that is the sun.
(Oh London, London! Only five more days and I shall be wandering your grimy, busy, bursting streets once more.)
Even on a bleak Winter’s day when the wind wants to knock you over; or when it’s so cold that your fingers are developing frostbite inside of your Dent’s leather gloves – the sun can bring you up. It comes as a surprise each time, bursting and bounding out of the clouds. It fills a room completely, making it unbearably stuffy even in January or February. And light. THe light is an English sunlight, different from the crisp and subtly harsh light of Edinburgh skies, for instance. It’s glorious. It makes me completey stop in what I am doing, for seconds, minutes at a time, and look up. And wonder. Moments like this, I think, keep you sane. I wouldn’t continue living here for the sun alone, but it helps. It really does help.
I miss the city still.