There are some things in this life that are just achingly beautiful, and that includes the view from my bedroom window at my parents’ house. There’s something so peaceful in being able to look out over the valley to the hills (even when the mist rolls in and there is no view) and, clichéd though it may be, everything else pales into insignificance. Does it really matter all that much that I struggle with pirouettes? Not really.
On Sunday afternoon, I strapped on my trusty old hiking boots and set out on a familiar childhood walk with my mother. It was familiar up until we’d climbed to the top then dropped right down and then we got muddled up with which way to go and ended up on the wrong side of the village. But it didn’t matter because I’d had the peace and the height and that amazing feeling of being on top of the world.
Hills, sheep, nature… all in an average day in Rural Derbyshire. You could be almost anywhere in the world. It took me a long time to grow into where I’d come from, I’m glad I did in the end. As we hit the highest point of the walk, my mother said to me ‘you can see why we never moved once we came here’. I understood exactly. Much as I absolutely adore living in London, I crave what I spent my formative years resisting.
Courtesy of my peaceful weekend, I got a tonne of knitting done: I finished my pointe shoe bag, completed another bun cover, did half a legwarmer and half a shrug. I like time. Here’s a picture of my pointe shoe bag, but really my weekend’s endeavours deserve a whole post of their own: