A stroll in the past

Working all day at my desk. Rain tumbling onto the roof overhead in my study. By the late afternoon I decided I needed to unshackle myself from the desk.

I recently discovered that my biological father, who I've not seen since I was around five, may live about 25 minutes walk from our house. While he has never contacted me nor my brother, and I have little desire to open this can of worms, the coincidence of this proximity does play on my mind.

I decided to find the address. It transpires this is on the edge of a small, run down council estate which reminded me of parts of London in my childhood. My cunning plan, such as it was, was simply to walk past the house and move on. The address, however, was at the end of an unwelcoming cul-de-sac. To any onlookers, I may as well have been wearing a stripy shirt and carrying a swag sack as I looked through an upstairs window at a large wall mounted television screen. I felt no urge to knock on the door and, as there was nowhere else to go, I turned for home.

The rain started again in earnest and as I walked back past the old council flats, and thought about the vague and unhappy associations this experience had provoked, I felt like I was returning to the present where life is brighter and happier. Home, I changed out of my wet clothes and, watched by cats, started supper and thought about my book and waited for my wife to return home to our warm and comfy house.