Here we are, twenty years and change later, about to pack up my house and move back home.

Because fate, as Merlin always tells us, is inexorable. And mine has always smelt of crushed grass and beer, and looked like the last rays of light over trees.

I have a dozen blogs of various types – twenty years of growth and tears scattered in bits and pieces all over the internet. Stories and anecdotes and quotes. Analysis and pretty pictures. Run-on sentences and flagrant abuse of grammar and Proper Capitalisation and any and all rules of English.

And then I lost all my words. Swallowed them. Locked them away. Stopped speaking. Stopped writing. Stopped thinking.

It doesn’t work like that, you know. Deep down inside, there will always be the words. And the thoughts. And (whisper it) the feelings.

So here is a new space for feelings. And words. And thoughts. And books. So many books.

A whole new adventure in a not-so-new place.

“Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.”