Full circle

Back in the UK, for a little while I used to live in a super cool bungalow in a small village called Martlesham Heath. Previous occupants of that house included my brother, my aunt, my parents and my grandparents. It was a house that was well utilised by my whole family (in fact it is now the home of my other brother and his family. I hope they are enjoying my lime green kitchen paint job). I only lived there for about 5 years, but have been going there my whole life to visit the various occupants, so essentially it was another house in which I grew up. It even still has a wooden board nailed to the wall where me and my cousins marked our heights every time we were over there (for the record, I'm pretty sure my mother is shrinking).
I've always cherished the memories I have from those times we went there, as its where I learned to ride a bike (that in itself was hilarious. My brother managed to hit nearly every tree on the green. All 6 of them)  and spend countless hours riding around the green and in the small birch wood next to it. We would go there with our bikes all the time, and when my grandparents or my aunt Sally (who all usually lived in Zimbabwe) were staying there, they would walk out with us and watch as my brothers and I cycled up and down the small hills feeling like daredevils and showing off. Of course, when I went back years later I realised either the hills and jumps were far, far smaller than I remember or some health and safety people went through and filled them all in. I'm pretty sure it was the latter.

So now I find myself in New Zealand, staying with my aunt Sally, hiring a bike and pedalling up and down the mountain bike tracks. I feel like a child again, and it reminded me of those days again so damn much. I could almost see my Gran standing there, watching us like a hawk while Grandpa stood next to her, with his hands behind his back and probably holding on to a plastic bag which he would use to collect any rubbish he found on the way to keep the place tidy. He died a couple of years ago, but those memories are how I will always see him, and every time I get on a mountain bike and cycle around the woods it feels like he's still there, watching us, and picking us up when we fell.

Unfortunately my grandfathers benevolent gaze from heaven failed to stop me from making the ultimate schoolboy error of looking behind me while I crossed a cattle grid bridge so of course I still fell off in an impressive display of slow motion inevitable doom. My front wheel went left, back wheel went right, legs went down and face went perilously close to the handrail.

Don't worry Mum, I'm FINE.