Going home (when it’s not your home anymore)
I’ve spent the Easter holidays back home in Frome, with my family. Only, this isn’t our home anymore…
On Good Friday, we pack up a few bags of clothes and toothbrushes from my parents’ house in London, where we’re staying, and join the rest of the city on the motorway.
The traffic is bad and what’s usually a 2.5-hour journey takes over five hours. But spirits are mostly high and we stop off a few times to stretch our legs.
On arriving at our home in Frome…
