I miss the misty drizzle and warm cups of tea.
I miss walking down Portobello Road, dodging the vegetable sellers as I popped into Tesco for raspberries and cold pressed Pink Lady apple juice. I miss shopping at Westfield and picking up food at Waitrose. I miss ready-meals that weren’t frozen and sandwiches that just were there, ready to go and three quid in the meal deal. I miss Rubicon passionfruit juice and cheddar stars. I miss proper Nando’s and their sangria and not worrying about driving back after a cheeky pitcher on a Monday night.
I miss hearing “Mind the gap” and “Welcome aboard the Southern Service to Brighton.” I miss standing in the WH Smith at Victoria Station, selecting a paperback, a pack of gum and a bottle of Evian for the train ride. I miss waiting in the taxi queue at Brighton Station because it was winter and no way was I going to walk a half hour alone in the dark.
I miss the shouting in my ear over drum and bass at clubs. I miss staying out until three or four in the morning. I miss staring up at the stars from a Brighton garden as music wafts out from the open kitchen door.
I miss the sound of the waves curling up onto the pebbled shore, racing back out with a loud “HUSH.” I miss waking up encircled by warm freckled arms to the shrieks of the seagulls. I miss lazy Sundays when walking down by the pier or simply staying in bed were the best options.
But mostly, I miss being able to see my friends freely. That, and being able to buy crumpets at the shop instead of ordering them from a special website.