It’s strange to be back.
A place I haven’t ventured back to for 15 years and knowing 10 have been without you on the earth.
The last place you stayed before you were taken to hospital.
My brother has worked wonders, a one-man band changing and renovating sometimes by choice and sometimes to preserve the stability of the bones. He has done such a wonderful job to keep the house in good health whilst putting his personal stamp on the place.
La Reinerie. The 300 year old cow shed that we were blessed to have as our childhood holiday home.
Everything feels different being here, yet every time I turn my head I’m reminded and I see you here.
A photograph you took hangs on the bathroom wall, the rusted waffle iron that nearly fell on your head, your old wellies by the door and your coat still hangs in the wardrobe. All ghosts that hold you close.
But for me it’s the smell. This house has always had a unique smell. Burning log smoke, lime plaster and cold stone, and of course the smell of fresh baguette.
I’m not sure what you’d say about the parrot wallpaper dad, I think you’d approve. And I think you’d be damn proud of your boy for keeping your legacy so beautifully.
