CHAOS IN A SMALL SPACE BY THE HEARTH FIRE

wenty-five years ago this year, we moved into our home. We were a young family with a five-year-old and another on the way. It’s a little house—three compact bedrooms that were perfectly fine for our small family at the time. Life, as it tends to do, unfolded in its own way, and today we still find ourselves in the same place. However, looking back at those twenty-five years, I realise I haven't yet shared the current makeup of our household as it stands today.

Years ago, we were a family of four plus a cat. We always imagined that as the children grew, we would move to a larger house, but life rarely follows the plans we lay out. Morticia became ill and has remained disabled since—a shift that naturally affected our income and anchored us here. It was a difficult transition, but it’s the reality we navigated together, and it’s why this little house remained our home.

Fast forward to today, and the current makeup of our household is quite a different story. Our eldest daughter moved out years ago; she’s married now and living in a flat near Hillsborough. Our cat, Angel, passed away five years ago and has been succeeded by our dog, Magnus. My youngest remains at home, joined two years ago by her boyfriend—a tall thirty-year-old man with famously enormous feet. Their son, our grandson, arrived twenty-two months ago, bringing a renewed and beloved chaos to our lives.

It is a cramped, busy, and often loud house. In the middle of that whirlwind, I sometimes crave a moment of stillness. Occasionally I find it—but I can always retreat to my shed, my noddfa. It is my sanctuary, a "thin place" that serves as the quiet counterpoint to the crowded energy indoors.

Our home is small, full to the rafters, and often feels like it's bursting at the seams, but it is ours. In my own way, I’ve always seen these walls as a boundary, a small world of our own that we’ve protected despite the challenges, keeping the metaphorical hearth fire burning through every season. One day, the youngest will (very probably, perhaps) move on with her family, and then these few rooms will fall quiet, leaving just Morticia, Magnus, and me. That calmer future isn't on the immediate horizon, but for now, we are simply living the life we have been handed, right here where we are.

Today the weather turned, and I’ve had to make a decision on the commute. With the wind sitting at 30-40 mph and even nastier gusts forecast, the road is a different beast entirely. In years past, I’d have just put my head down and fought through it, regardless of the strain. But I’m still dealing with the fallout from November’s crash; the back injury I picked up then gives me enough daily grief without adding a gale into the mix. A genuine sense of foreboding told me to leave the bike at home today, so I’m taking the bus. It isn't about backing down; it’s about being smart enough to stay in one piece for the work that’s still to come.

While I navigate the "chaos" of our compact home—tending to my noddfa and the quiet resilience of our small space—the spirit of the "Urban Viking" lives on in my webcomic, Northman.  You’ll find those same themes of endurance in the rugged landscapes of Jorvikshire.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more about my path, the upcoming projects, and the day-to-day reality of living full-to-the-rafters over on social media. Join me there:

Instagram ● Threads

BlueSky ● TikTok