18 | Linguist | Anxious resting face
Hiya! I hope you like my ramblings and ponderings - any and all constructive criticism is pretty much guaranteed to be met with a 'yay!' Please note British English spellings ;)
Written By: Helen Grant
May 28, 2015
Go to the flat, marshy tail of the British Isles rabbit and zoom in to Cambridge, still flat, with a distastefully prominent hospital cremation tower but otherwise very lovely buildings. Head south, past fields of pungent, yellow rapeseed.
And here is my village. Skim down the high-street, past squidgy marzipan cottages, and up the hill that is really more of a small lump than a hill, until you reach my own humble road. You’ll know you've found the right one because the council recently bequeathed us a marble headstone. It has our street name on it in gold, and an inspirational message, which is charming, and not at all patronising.
Go up the road until you arrive at a badly-signposted fork. Take time to admire the water tower on the horizon, providing the day is clear and the highest hill in Cambridgeshire is not wearing its favourite foggy beanie.
Rotate ninety degrees left and look at my house. Our self-sown tree will probably be peeking over the top from the back garden, like a shy child, and if it is spring it will probably be spouting strange furry catkins, which we still haven’t identified and which are probably a miracle cure for cancer.
Admire our front door and try not to focus too much on the scratches around the keyhole. If the door happens to open, please catch the cairn terrier before he escapes.