By MissT
Just back from a flying visit to Northampton — and by flying, I mean crawling down the M5 in 33 degrees with the air con gasping like it had given up on life.
Went to see Julie. Only stayed the night. It was one of those whirlwind visits where you talk fast, laugh louder, and squeeze in more emotions than most people manage in a week. We ended up in Tiffield for a bit — blink and you’ll miss it kind of place, but full of character. And heat. So much heat. Every time I stepped outside, it felt like I was walking straight into a hairdryer.
Drove over 400 miles in 24 hours. My body’s still vibrating. My soul? Somewhere between “I needed that” and “never again in this weather.”
Came home to Wales thinking I’d find some sweet coastal breeze. Nope. It’s 30 bloody degrees here too. My cats are melting. I’m melting. The walls are probably melting.
But it’s good to be back.
Back to my bed.
Back to my notebook.
Back to this strange, soft rhythm I’ve started carving out — where peace feels possible, even after long roads and longer memories.
More soon. Probably with less sweat.
(But no promises.)
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