I live two lives within my body. I had an english life many years ago, a London life until I left the River Thames behind me to build a new life in Switzerland. I left my mother and my father knowing that visits would be rare. I maintained my link to London and visited every year. As time passed I realised that the London I knew was no longer. The foggy days, the old buildings and ruins left from the war were gradually replaced by glass fronted modern designs. The smell of old brickwork, especially when it was dampened from the falling english rain, no longer existed. I never realised that smells could be so nostalgic: not the smells of your house, the kitchen, the furniture, no. It was the smells of the outdoor world, the streets, the people, the memories of a time gone by.
The fog that now surrounds me in the days of Autumn is no longer fog, but mist. It rises from the local Swiss River Aar and holds the landscape in its misty fingers, turns the trees into spectral shaped fingers clawing at the dense air. My father passed away this year, I no longer have near family connections with my english heritage, and so I now remain in Switzerland. Do I feel nostalgia when thinking of London? Yes for the good old days of my youth. If I had to leave my Switzerland, would I be nostalgic? Yes, for all the Autumn mist, it is my mist, as the London fogs were my fogs.