I have a confession to make. The mainland is not my home; Jersey in the Channel Islands (between England and France) is my home, the place that will always have my heart. I left the island when I was four when my parents divorced but went back 2/3/4 times a year to see my father until I was about 16 years old.
He lived next to an old railway track which was converted to a walkway and I spent many hours jumping on my bike with nothing but my helmet and a bottle of water to sit and stare at Corbiere Lighthouse. It was my zen place despite being so young.
This is the ‘Helping Hand’ statue (the lighthouse itself is out of shot to the left) signalling a boat which had run aground but had all its crew rescued.
So when it’s sunny at home in England, I think of my real home.
How about you? Is home when you currently are or does your heart belong to somewhere else?