On turning 21

I realised that this was probably the last birthday I’ll spend at home. Home. That’s a loaded word, with so many meanings. Having a place to call home is important to so many of us, some people spend their whole lives searching for one. Having never lived in one place for more than three years, one might argue that I have never really had a home, many houses maybe, many places passed through, always transient.To some extent thats true. I’ve learned not to get to wedded to a place, not to sink roots too deep that would make it hard to move on. But I disagree too. I think I’ve had many homes.

I have no memories obviously of my first home, an apartment in Rotterdam. I’ve seen it though, in later years and I’m sure it was a nice place to live; views of the river, right in the city. I have only one memory of my next home, Redwood Drive, as we call it, in England, somewhere in Essex. I was a toddler crawling through one of those plastic tunnels in someone’s house, and another kid threw a building block at my head. I’m told lots of stories about other things I used to get up to there; killing flowers in the garden, doing runners in hardware stores and supermarkets, locking family members in my wendy house.

I have many more memories of my time in Tanzania. A huge aquamarine house by the Indian Ocean. Living with grandpa and grandma. Dad throwing me into a cactus to save me from a mad cow. Thieves breaking in at midnight. Someone stealing my pink swimsuit that was drying on the washing line. Sue’s school- with rabbits and guinea pigs, learning to read. Playing with Sylvanian families and Barbies on the floor, whilst eating sausages Dad brought back from Holland. The wall painted with animals. Guinea fowl running across dusty roads. I remember my 6th birthday cake, it was chocolate and I fell in a man-hole near the hotel where we went to pick it up.

My memories get more vivid. Back to Holland. A tall, thin Dyke house overlooking a canal which would freeze over in winter. A butterfly landed on my hand on a summers day, there were purple flowers near the steps leading up to the house. Maya and I found shells in the piles of sand dad had in the garden. I hated school, I wanted to play lego at home. We walked to the C1000, there were scary dogs along the way. My 7th birthday was held at home, mum made all the food, I don’t remember the cake. My favourite present was a pink diary with Sleeping Beauty on it, my first journal.

India, where we spent six months. Grandpa and grandma’s place, an apartment. So many memories here. Sitting on the balcony, watching as girls with their perfect braids and starched uniforms walked to school, red flame of the forest trees. Playing with steel pots and pans and soap, painting and using okra as stamps, grandma making us a tent in the living room. Bustling markets with stray cats and strange vegetables. Watching Oswald and singing along to High-5. Happy days of no school, practicing my cursive handwriting and skipping math. My 8th birthday, the power was gone the whole day, we went to an arcade across the road and played some strange game where you send a disc flying over a table, grandma would have baked me a cake.

Flying through Mumbai, eating curly fries at midnight in a tiny hotel room, alone with mum, dad already in England. We stayed in a caravan by the sea first, I loved the playground. Burlingham Drive. A new build, fresh, white, ours through and through. Maya and I shared our first room- it was painted pink, we had a duvet covered in cute rabbits. The Ikea lights went above our bed; a moon, a heart and a star, which glowed comfortingly through the night, protecting me from the scary African mask hanging in the hallway. We bought flowers for the bare garden and helped dad plant them. We walked to school each day through the fields, in our blue and white dresses, our hair in pigtails. We played on the swing set in the garden, the doves would coo. We’d play outside all summer, and crawl through the hollybush to retrieve our ball. Horses would come over to the fence to see what we were up to and we’d hand over sugar cubes. Seagulls called as we visited the library. My 9th birthday was at home, I think we played hide and seek in the house. For my 10th I fed giraffes at Africa Alive and had a vanilla sponge cake filled with raspberry.

August 12th 2006. Penang, Malaysia, we were plunged into the unknown. We touched down in Kuala Lumpur carrying a plastic bag each, curtsey of a terror scare, mine had a lone napkin inside. Dense jungle and bone-white beaches rushed toward me as the plane landed in Penang, my 10 year old eyes were as wide as saucers. I learned to swim, we drew on mum’s white board when she was at meetings at school. Miami Green- we spent the whole day in the pool, we watched Mickey Mouse clubhouse, I went on my first residential. Ferringhi Villas, construction noises, chaos, dust. But another place to call home. We perfected our badminton technique, I ran along the beach. I played soccer obsessively, turned black in the sun. We spent weekends in malls, or braving Tesco’s vegetable section, we ate dinner at the hawkers. I had two of my birthdays at the plush Park Royal Hotel- pools, pizza, lots of friends, they provided the cake.

Midwinter. Brussels, just before New Year’s Eve 2009. Waffles at a Christmas market, ice skating. We stayed first in an apartment near school, the woods on our doorstep. A thick layer of snow to crunch through on walks through those woods, magical while it lasted. Winter melted to spring, the woods were full of bluebells, the lakes full of ducklings. I ran around completing my wildflowers project. Summer 2010, we moved to Adrianstraat into our quirky house on the hill.  Taboganning down the snowy drive in winter, sweating up the hills on bikes in the summer. We wore our trampoline down to its springs. Prune came into our lives in August 2011, barely two years old, scrawny and scruffy, our sister from day one. Two more years passed, we took up Cross Country, the washing machine worked overtime with muddy kit, we ran the length of the country (and its neighbours). We skied each Winter and car tripped to France in the spring and summer. Prune was always by our side, always up for a ride in the car, whether it was eight hours or twenty minutes to the shoe shop on a Sunday. Birthdays were low key, just the family.

May 2013. India. Another home, grandpa and grandma’s place. A whirlwind year of crazy drives to school, mum at the wheel, dodging potholes and overtaking school buses; “go get the Greenwood bus mum”. Trying to outsmart the strict uniform code, complaining about wearing ties and those shoes. Being the cool kids for once. Shopping, playing tennis, enjoying the sun. Studying like hell for my IB exams, then relaxing like I earned it. Grandma made a cake for my 18th, just like ten years ago.

Back to England. Corton, by the North Sea. I’d watch the waves with Prune, metallic grey even through that heatwavey summer. Prune would run through the long grass in the nearby fields. I started university, didn’t quite see what all the fuss was about. By Fall we’d moved into The Hyde. White paint everywhere, another house to make a home. In the spring Suzi arrived with the daffodils, a feral creature scared of everyone. She settled in, I spent summer on the lawn with her and Prune, each curled up to me as I read James Herriott. Uni went on, we travelled, took the dogs for long walks through the mud and rain and on sunny days too. My little red Mini ploughed up and down the A47. Summer 2016. Heatwave after heatwave, too hot for the dogs, too hot to use the stove; we ate every meal outside under the sun umbrella. We painted the fence green and the house white, we boated, lost my car in Lattitude. Summer faded to Fall, to Winter. We came back from India to the ‘ugly’ bungalow which had become a home.

I turned 21, and was lucky enough to have the most beautiful cake ever baked by Maya. I wanted a vanilla fairy sponge cake, filled with raspberry jam just like those innocent days. It was everything I wanted and way more, it brought back all those memories and most importantly it was the YUMMIEST thing ever. And its full name is epic- Almond-Vanilla bean layer cake with raspberry preserves. 

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 21 years, its that its easy to make a place a home, no matter how many times you have to start again; its not the place, its the people (and dogs). Its you guys. You are what I remember in all these places. Thanks for being there for me through the crap times and the sunshine, for putting up with my insanities and insecurities. I can’t imagine having lasted this long without you all. Make sure you visit me in Scotland next year and help make that place a home too xx

How time flies

A big hug to Maya especially for being there for me through everything, almost all my memories feature you. Thanks also for the gorgeous cake and photos.

My partner in crime since 1998

Make sure you read the full recipe on Nutmeg and Pear.