The Angry Basement Dweller

Repeating Patterns of Abuse and Sanctuary

There’s a road I’m weirdly drawn to.

A lot of people are. Many people I know, including the one who is helping us convert a horsebox to a tiny house on wheels, have lived in this road.

If I’m ever close by, I go out of my way to walk down it. I nod hello to the two front doors I used to have keys to. 106. 82. I pass them in remembrance. Pain and recovery.

Tell me it has some magic about it. Tell me it’s on a leyline. Tell me a warrior queen of Ancient Britain is buried under its pavements. I’ve no idea. But something’s going on between me and this road.