The Prodigal Son Returns

Funny how it is.

I tried getting back into my old blogpage, but it appears that someone has taken over while I was out. In any case, my digging around brought me to this blog that I used to run while things were...well, more fine than now.

This almost feels like an old house. One that I hastily departed and allowed to fall into desrepair. And so after traveling from the equator to the south, south to the north, and the north to the equator again, I've finally come back home to this old house. I know, the prodigal son returns. But there are no celebrations in this story. There is no welcome, no singing and dancing, no killing of a fatted calf.

Its just the weary traveller returning to the old estate, pushing open big oaken doors, and coming in to find everything left as it had been suddenly dropped.

There are cobwebs in the corner and the place needs some dusting. It probably even needs a new coat of paint. And as one runs his finger along the old furniture and mantlepiece of the old estate, the prodigal son catches sight of the old posts from the lady of the house - like pictures on the walls that nobody thought about removing.

In any case, he puts his bags down, dusts and wipes everything, lifts the shades and blinds to let the light back in, and tries to make it as hospitable as it once was.

With all the dusting done, he rearranges some of the furniture and starts the old fireplace before sitting himself down on one of the huge armchairs, wondering how he is going to make the place lively again. Perhaps a party should do the trick. At which point, he wonders if he should send an invite to the lady of the house. Nah, maybe she will pass by and see the lights on. She might even drop in again. He gets up and peruses the old vinyl collection. Finding Jack Johnson's Better Together, he puts in on the antique gramophone and lets the music warm up the place.

In any case, welcome to the Manor.
























Oh, word of caution, it might be best not to venture into the old wings. Some of the old parts of the estate might be crumbling and somewhat unsafe.