I wake to the sound of rain on the skylight, but it soon stops. So I decide to walk the mile to school with six-year-old Isaac, rather than take the car.
He shows me the way, and tells me which roads are busy.
As we reach the school playground he speeds up, and heads for his classroom. No time for goodbyes. A nod from the teacher – we both know he’s there now.
with a different adult -
all grown up
I wander back through the wet streets – I don’t know this part of Leeds very well, but I relish the northern accents I hear around me.
I walk back past the allotment gardens, which slope down into the valley. There are long waiting lists for allotments now, and they are all used – with carefully constructed compost heaps, raised beds, and plots prepared for the new crops.
Twenty years ago no one bothered to grow vegetables, apart from a few enthusiasts, eccentrics and old men.
Some plots still have the ramshackle look – nothing too humble to be reused. Others are equipped with purpose-made cloches, greenhouses and water-butts.
come into their own
after the lazy years.