Faversham, 24 December 2013
I hope this finds you well. I hope you’ll indulge this first Letter from Faversham. For now, it’s a bit like moving into a new house, I’m afraid. The moving van has just pulled away, the diesel fumes are lingering in the chill air outside, I’ve shut the door and I’m faced with a room full of boxes, rolled up rugs, unhung curtains and baskets brimming spikily with the things that didn’t make it into respectable containers. The surfaces are all woodchip and stucco, the carpet is all kinds of wrong.
But I’m in. I’ve started this epistolary journey. It’s bare at the moment, and I’m not sure where everything is going to go, or what this new home will look like, but I’m looking forward to finding out. I was going to wait to get going until I had a swish new logo from Miss Jemma Elf or until I’d organised some fabulously gorgeous WP functionality from Beam Twenty3, until I remembered the first visit Mr F and I had from friends when we moved to Faversham nearly 14 years ago.
It was in that first few hours of inhabiting our new house, and there were boxes everywhere. I dug out a stash of teabags that I had set aside in the cab of the moving van. We all sat, amidst the chaos and disorganisation, drinking tea, and I imagined our new home as I would like it to be. A good moment, really. So, in the spirit of savouring the beginning of something new, please excuse the mess. I will get it sorted, eventually.
Why write a Letter from Faversham? It started with walking. I’ve been walking nearly every day for the past six months. Six months today, in fact. How on earth did that happen? More on that in another letter, I think. Safe to say though, there is nowhere better for spending time with thoughts, meandering in and out of them, than walking. I miss writing letters, and find that voice in my head as I walk, so I thought I’d try and share it. Like I said, I don’t know what this new home will look like, but you’re welcome to join me for a cuppa.
Until then, I’m off for a rainy walk. Write when you can!