If you’ve read my about me page, you may be aware that I am a Welsh woman living in Yorkshire. Now this change in my geographical abode did not happen overnight. Nope, I didn’t wake up one morning and decide that mountains, sheep, daffodils and cawl (a Welsh broth) were no longer my style, so I would head north in search of flat caps, parkin (a kind of gingerbread cake), rhubarb and whippets. My move from Wales took a whole lot of soul-searching, sleepless nights and probably as much planning as your average military evacuation – my shoe collection alone had its own spreadsheet! And in the four years that I have called Yorkshire my home I have loved it: I have loved the people, I have loved the accent (although it took me a while to get my head around, I needed a translator for the first few months) and I have loved creating a home with Andrew.
It therefore came as a complete shock to me when I had a pang of homesickness on a recent trip to Wales. Of course it goes without saying that I miss my family, but I didn’t think I’d feel this tug on my heart for Wales itself. Now don’t get me wrong, Wales is a wonderful country. Yet when you have lived in one place for the majority of your life you almost become immune to its charms. You don’t notice the beauty, you take having the seaside on your doorstep for granted, the breathtaking views from the Gower Peninsular become ‘ordinary’, the diversity of Swansea city washes over you and the utter delight that is Mumbles Bay becomes passé.
Below: One of the many reasons I miss Wales, lunch in one of our favourite restaurants – SA3 Bistro (now sadly closed)
Whatever the reason, it seems to be sticking. My mind is filled with Wales – there have even been deep discussions within the Chic household of upping sticks and moving back to the land of song. So watch this space, The Barefaced Chic may be crossing the border.
Have any of you moved to pastures new and then had a change of heart? Or are you planning a big move? I’d love to know so hit the comment section.