Wake up to a frosty morning

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I've been spending a few days in Hull - a town where I spent three years. It feels weird to be back: I remember feeling trapped here, even if I had a good time. In a way, coming back is like going for a coffee with the guy who kidnapped you that sunny morning in Colombia. It's the uneasy familiarity; that "we've been through a lot together, but maybe sometimes I wish we hadn't" feeling that I can't really explain or describe any better than I just have.

Everything is the same here, nothing much seems to have changed. Cafe's and chippies are all still there. The University is just as I remember it. They still spend the morning slipping takeaway leaflets under your door. For better or worse, Hull is exactly as it was when I left. I suspect it'll continue being exactly as it was for a very long time.

Tell you what, though. Nothing beats seeing old friends who inexplicably all converged in on the town that very same weekend I decided to drop by. Nothing beats a long night at the pubs with good mates. Nothing beats walking down the street and bumping into people you didn't even know were still around.

I guess I'm trying to say that it's alright, being back in Hull. It's not so bad at all.