Every time we go down to Portsmouth to see our friends we decide that we’re going to sell up in the sticks and move down there. This lasts for a week or so, until we realise that it’s completely impractical from job/children’s schools/family point of view. And we remember that what we really want is to be 23 again, footloose and fancy free.
For me Portsmouth is home in England. It was the first place I settled to when I moved from Finland. Besides, I love the sea. I’ve written here about how landlocked I’ve felt in the country. And some of our oldest friends live in Southsea. It’s become a universal joke, ‘Why don’t you move down here when you love it so much?’
‘I really think we will,’ I reply.
We know how to have fun.
Usually all that happens is that we look at estate agents windows before or after a stroll on the old battlements in Old Portsmouth, and then head home to Sticksville.
This time the walk was impractical as it was truly raining cats and dogs, and in a horizontal direction. But we managed to see a couple of flats in a new development in Old Portsmouth. And we fell in love.
Seeing the high waves with seahorses crashing against the harbour walls from the rooftop of a penthouse we were viewing was fantastic. To be so close to water, all year around, to always have a friendly face to meet in a pub, oh, to be 23 again…
Driving home we discussed the possibility of moving to Portsmouth. And realised there are far fewer obstacles in our way this time.
This time we could actually do it.