If Eastbourne is the
place old people go to die, Wimbledon is the place middle class
people go to breed. Like my parents. And my friend S*** (two
children) who I met earlier this week.
Unfortunately because
of the booming baby population she has to move to Epsom because they
can't get their kids into either of the schools just around the corner,
both C of E church schools, because they aren't religious. I think
that's dreadful. Apparently church schools are now all powerful
and demand that people attend church and do volunteering if their
children are to get in. I suppose the going to church bit is fair
enough, except that they get 50% state funding and there's no school
place for my mate's child.
I am amazed how I am
back and immediately step into the old ways. I potter around,
visiting the same people, shopping in the same shops. Of course there
are changes. Wimbledon seems to be getting posher each time I come
back, as though the village is seeping down the hill.
I go to the theatre and
in the daytimes I meet up with friends. I am able to do this because
they (almost) all have small children. (The DFP can't come because of work,
but this is not a schedule that the DFP would enjoy so it's just as
well I'm travelling solo.)
On Sunday I went to the
soft play centre in Raynes Park (the horror) with A***** (two
children) who thought she had escaped from Wimbledon but has been
sucked back in.
On Tuesday I went round
to S***'s (two children) house and we talked non stop for four hours.
Soon I will meet up with P*** (five children), J**** (two children –
twins) and hopefully with G***** (two children). I probably won't be
able to make it down to Warwickshire to see M*** (one child) but I am
going up to see my brother in Scotland (three children) and my old
friends H**** (three children) and M***** (three children) will come
and meet me there.
A few years ago they
would all have been at work during the day, so this does well for my
holiday plans. Though some are starting to go back to work, which
won't work well for my holidays at all. The arty types (largely no
children, yet) I have to see in the evenings because they are busy
working during the days.
I've had a wonderful
run of theatre. I can recommend 'The Curious Incident of the dog in
the Night-time', 'Jumpers for Goalposts' and 'The Elephantom' and, if
you haven't seen a Punchdrunk show before and are feeling flush, 'The
Drowned Man' is worth a visit.
I find it very
emotional being back. Seeing people I love and miss, hearing the big
things which don't travel well, and small things which don't either.
I realise I miss the
quality of the light. The variations you don't get in Singapore. Life
here altogether seems more piquant, in good ways and bad. Walking home
from the theatre on Tuesday night I looked down onto Villiars street
from the walkway onto the Hungerford footbridge. Police cars lined
the street and a man with a bloodied nose was being held in a doorway
by two police, garbling about not wanting to fight anyone. When I
reached Waterloo it was swaying with festive drunkards.
Now I'm on the train to
Scotland with the countryside tumbling beautifully past the window
and plenty of layers packed. It's hard to put into words what these
trips mean for me. Suffice to say they are too infrequent and very
important for my well-being.
The new job, which I am
a couple of months into and loving, means I will be in Singapore for
at least another couple of years. But the years slip by quickly in seasonless Singapore. In the meantime I must make sure that I come back often.
