Location, location ...

Between the ages of eighteen and forty I lived in a total of thirty-six houses, over half of them abroad. That's a rough average of two moves a year - some years more, some none at all. At the end of a fellowship programme at the University of Minnesota the faculty put on a review caricaturing the fellows; it was very funny. They presented us with certificates depicting their perception of our individual characters. Mine was 'Footloose and Fancy Free' - that got lost in a house move. Since the age of forty I've moved a mere five times - four moves triggered by involvement with my father's care after he had a stroke.

A friend says I didn't just have itchy feet, they must be positively blistered. Truth is, I was a runner, gladly (and promptly) moving on to wherever the grass seemed most green, taking pride in traveling light. I'm using 'runner' in the emotional, rather than sporty, sense - 'though I've also put a few miles under my trainers. Another friend asked how it was that fear had not stopped me from living such an apparently adventurous life. The question made me pause and reflect. I had no concept of 'security'. In childhood it had taken such courage to get up each morning, and face the war zone that was my family, that I simply did not recognize fear until terror hit me like a truck, and stopped me running.

The houses I've lived in longest have all had sea views, except for this one. I've only owned one of these houses, on the beach at Lower Largo in Fife. Today's blip is the view from its balcony at dawn and dusk. It was a lovely house, the garden opening onto six miles of beach. You could walk the whole day without meeting a single soul. Losing that one was a wrench - and a long story, as these things are.

My current (soon to be former) home I took solely on the strength of its proximity to the sea. I was selling this one, the family home for forty years, after my father's death. I needed to stay close to the sea to make that transition. I've always felt this house to be a compromise - too small, too long, too narrow, great view, convenient location. It's been a refuge that's enabled me to regain my sanity and health after five years of 'caring.' I'll always be grateful for the shelter it gave but it's been chafing for a while now.

The new place is an altogether different prospect ...