I have always had a home, but there are places where you feel comfortable. Growing up in the streets of East End London it was my home because I knew nothing else. We were not privileged, working class. The main road was a market with stalls, and the neighbours were mostly people that my mum grew up with. She still called them by their maiden names, although the names had all changed. The school friends had married but it was the place where you felt comfortable. We all spoke the same language, english with a cockney accent-
The big journeys were up to London, meaning the West End and the City of London where the tourists flocked to see the sights: St. Pauls Cathedral, Buckingham Palast, shopping down Oxford Street to name a few. We lived there, we were not tourists, and we had it all in our own back yard, but up West was up West, and we were still the cockney working class.
Life goes on, and homes change. I think the first three years of my life in Switzerland were homeless. The first two in Zürich and afterwards a year in the area around Solothurn until I met Mr. Swiss when I had a home again.
And now I have my probably last, but best home of all. We live in a village that we share with the cows and the hedgehogs and some humans of course. We have no shops, but a walk along the main road or the local train brings us to the market town of Solothurn. We have a castle and above all we have wonderful countryside framed by the Jura mountains to the North (in the photo) and a view towards the South of the alps on a clear day. What more do I need? Switzerland has become my home and I even speak the local dialect of Swiss German after 50 years. I feel at home here and the feeling is good.