No, not the dance around your handbag, nor the US medical drama. No, the place we live and grow up in.

This week, the Jones Massive are on holiday and rather than opt for our usual rural idyll, we’re in the suburbs. We’re in a quaint 30s style semidetached that seems to be the archetypical suburban house. Three bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen diner and living room. The drive is too narrow for most modern cars, so the concrete panel garages sit back from the road, nestled in well established gardens. Not doubt havens for mowers and spiders.

The house is compact, but not pokey. It doesn’t have that anti-TARDIS gig going on that some modern houses have going on. 🙂 I’m somewhat surprised how much bigger Chez Jones is, in comparison. I hope that doesn’t come across as bragging, it’s merely a statement of room size and property design. Much as I really like our house, I now wonder how much room we really need, but then I think it’s really nice to have plenty of room for bookshelves and big bedrooms for the kids to have their own space.

Which, dare I say, leads me to what today’s post is actually about. That of how much your home has an affect on you growing up. I wonder if more compact surroundings lead to greater interaction – for good and bad? Does having lots of space mean people withdraw more?

I also look at our kids and know that where and how we live is all they’ve ever known. They’re lucky in that they have a bedroom each. When I grew up, I too had my own room (although smaller), but it wasn’t shared. My sisters didn’t have that luxury, as necessity meant they had to share the big room between them. Well, at least until I left home. 🙂 I couldn’t wait to get away, but that was not to do with my family; I just wanted to be away from that dead end town. That was the drive.

We drive through that town and I see the facilities, the shops and how the locals behave. I hear some of the words they use and, at times, I think maybe I was wrong to write it off. There are good people there, but when I do, I get a whiff of hate through subtle conversation that all is not well in the state of Denmark. It’s that lurking rottenness of discrimination that upsets. But, perhaps I’m too PC for my own good 😉

Nottingham’s not perfect, but then neither are we humans 😉 I wonder what it must be like for my kids growing up where we are and what their memories of the house and growing up will be. I hope they have plenty of happy ones. Space to play, without being under each other’s feet and room for privacy, without being lonely. Maybe it’s not the house that sets this, maybe it is as much the occupants.

Take care,

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