Moving again. As well as the physical difficulties of, for instance, heaving loads of shopping up to our front door from various often forgotten parking places, both of us feel that we are also beginning to suffer from mental lapses β problems of short term memory like placing car keys in the fridge or cracking eggs into a teapot, for instance β that bode uneasily for the future. Mostly it is the friendliness and good humour of its citizens that, dour and shy myself, I shall miss.
No doubt our Kinver bungalow will eventually provide the same variety of experiences and stimuli and that, in time, most human contexts will discover. It was the kind of Home where Vic was assured that, yes, she would be welcomed onto the advisory gardening committee but inmates were not encouraged to do any actual gardening.
You can probably tell that I am beginning to feel the kinds of unsettled emotions that moving again will bring to the fore. Having travelled so far from my natal place, a small maternity hut in darkest West Africa, and having moved more or less randomly so often since then, I do wonder if that old truism about people who are rooted in a particular place being generally more contented than the peripatetic rest of us may in fact be true?
Meanwhile like a vulnerable hermit crab I scuttle forth to find my next approximately suitable shell-ter.
I think it perhaps sums up some of my on-the-point-of-moving-yet-again sense of anticipated disappointment. I have cut the last verse, which has always puzzled, but here are the first 5 verses:. Hope for I knew not what. Fast beat My heart at the sight of the tall slope Of grass and yews, as if my feet Only by scaling its steps of chalk Would see something no other hill Ever disclosed.
