I grew up in Wetherby, a small market town in between Leeds and York. That’s I learned to ride a bike, had my heart broken (aged 10) by a girl for the first time, it’s where Mum used to walk me to playgroup and then we’d have lunch on the sofa while she watched Pebble Mill.
Since Mum and Dad moved to Cornwall three years ago, there’s been little reason to go back, but last week I had a meeting there and it felt distinctly odd.
Like most people my age, I’ve been a bit of a nomad since I left home, but finally I settled back in Leeds – it simply felt right. Now that’s home really, where I’m living now, with Her Indoors and my cat, creating new memories – but I always thought that where I grew up would be home too. Now Mum and Dad have gone it doesn’t feel like that anymore, it’s more like bumping into an ex-girlfriend, that strange cold familiarity – a shared history instead of future. I still believe that where you grew up leaves some sort of mark on you, but I’m more inclined to think that it’s who you lived with and the experiences you had that matter more than the physicality of it.
NORTHERN PLANNER 
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