Going Home

I am still struck by how many of my peers (mid 30s, poss married or in an equivalent relationship, maybe kids) still talk about “going home” to mean going to their parents’ house.

Maybe people have an idea of what “a home” looks like and compared to this the flat they own in Zone 2 seems like a stopgap measure.

Or maybe you can never really feel “at home” in a big city, unless you were born and bred there.

Or maybe it’s just a London thing.

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