I had been driving all night. My only thought was of coffee. I needed it and I needed it fast, or I was going to fall asleep at the wheel. I couldn’t even take in the little Cornish cove that I had pulled up in front of as I was drawn towards the only source of caffeine I can see. The small cafe is only just putting out the signs, but as I stumble towards it, I don’t care. I can’t even process the fact that I had arrived in Cornwall at long last.
Arriving in Fowey again is like entering one of my own dreams. Except this time, the streets are real, and as we round the corner, down the hill, into the town, I know that this really exists. And yet, it takes me a moment – a few moments – to realise that I am not dreaming, and that I am really there again.
A year ago I was in a pretty bad state. I knew it at the time, but probably not how much. I’d had a rough few months and then had to leave my university city and return home, which was quite an upheaval. Although it was the right thing for me, it was a huge wrench at the time and took months for me to adjust. I was shattered, lost, and scared. I went through a pretty low patch over the winter, and took a while to pull myself out of it. I was worried about everything – from sleeping and having to talk to people, to getting into my car and walking into rooms of strangers. But I got through it (with some help).
I mentioned in my first post that both Daphne du Maurier and Dodie Smith are big inspirations for this blog and in my life. If you know me, then I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about them, but there’s no denying just how much of an inspiration these books have had on my life.