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Back from my vacation. A few thoughts on driving back to that place we call home – or simply an excuse to post some photos.

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The beach parasols all cleaned and neatly folded. The last sandcastle awaits its inévitable destruction by the incoming tide : the last walk along the prom – a few final breaths of bracing sea air before climbing in the car and heading to those places we call home. Crossing the void from holiday destination, to that place where we live and are glad to live when we see what pther places are like on our long journey home from the sea.

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Crossing those flat nowhere places where only wheat and wind turbines seem to grow. The flat agricultural tundra where small clusters of cottages and agricultural buildings pompously pass themselves off as villages ; pretentions as poles of civilization in the vast flat lands of industrially farmed fields. Occasionally a signpost tells you that you’re not derinig on a simulator – you are moving, you are getting somewhere, even if the endless plains of nothing give you feeling that you have ground to a halt.

Heading home, wondering what to have for dinner. You’ve emptied the fridge, and in this middle of nowhere there is no sign of a supermarket, not even a shop in those places that claim to be villages. Salvation ! Up ahead, on the horizon – a building that looks like it might actually be something. Alas, it is no more that a metal carcass – an effort to build a factory or a warehouse in the middle of nowhere in the hope that someone might want to invest here.

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This is the journey home – crossing all those places you could never call home.