Out of the front door and into the sun I go.
One of my favourite parts about our student house for this year (four bedrooms, brown carpets everywhere, living room sparse of all but essential furniture, a broken washing line in the garden, but a blackboard in the kitchen my housemate has already decorated with stars and smiley faces) is the view from our top step. Over the recycling bins and bikes belonging to the neighbours, over the rooftops and past the telephone wires, there’s a perfectly framed view of the Cathedral, towers imposing and ancient, the Devon hills that have been here far longer than anything else on the horizon.
It’s warm in the sun on the top step. I’m still determinedly wearing a dress or shorts or a skirt, even though it’s edging into Autumn by most accounts. It’s always a little bit warmer here than back in the Midlands anyway, this far south of the Gloucester services on the M5.
On my walk into town seagulls screech overhead, chasing clouds that unfurl across the sky like stop-motion animation in the wind. I see someone I recognise crossing the zebra crossing, smile and wave to them. On the corner there’s a battered red phone box that’s seen better days, three Carlings cans lined up neatly on the wall nearby; British student life summed up on a street corner. Continue reading