Home to Bedfordshire

After a 4 hour car journey, some apparently ‘terrible’ music and far more luggage than necessary, my car wheels created the familiar crunch over the stones in the drive. I was home.
As nice as Chester is (lacking descriptive word there, so ‘nice’ will do for now) it doesn’t have the comforting smell, that a lived in family house does. Nor does it have the pets or the old pairs of shoes, or the childhood memories that coincide with it.
But I think the best bit is being able to curl up in your own bed. It’s not that you don’t have a bed at uni, it’s just the one at home belongs to you alone. No springs in your back, dodgy stains, 1970’s mattresses or musty smells of heritage. It’s catered to your exact specifications and the one bit of home; you so often find your self craving.
Mine is covered in pillows and cushions (a typical girl) all you have to do is lay down for three seconds and you’ll fall asleep upon a bed of roses. The Princess from the Princess and the pea would never marry the Prince, because she would not get out of this bed.
Either way forgetting about Princes, Princesses and roses, it is time to take the train to Bedfordshire. The alarm is set for half seven and another day’s work at the kennels will follow.