MYTH OF THE QUIET HOUSE

very now and again, my wife heads off for a few days of well-earned respite. She’s with a friend who understands the ins and outs of her disability and knows exactly how to help her navigate the world to get the best out of the trip. This week, they are down in "that London" for a whirlwind of fun and frivolity. Me? I’m here, keeping the gears turning as usual.

In the past, I’d have thrown in a leave day just to soak up the silence. But the new shift pattern is a greedy beast; ten-hour shifts mean my annual leave vanishes far too quickly. So, I’m working through. Besides, "peace and quiet" is a myth in this house lately. Between my daughter, her boyfriend, and their son/our grandson all living under our small roof, the walls feel like they’re shrinking. An empty house is a relic of the past.

While she’s living it up at ABBA Voyage and Kinky Boots, I’m holding down the fort and keeping house. I don’t envy her the location, though. I’ve never been the biggest fan of the capital—it’s alright, but I wouldn't lose a wink of sleep if I never set foot in it again.

My heart is permanently anchored in the green, preferably where the air tastes of salt. Fate had a cruel sense of humour placing me this far inland, surrounded by the urban grime. People tell us we’re lucky to have the countryside nearby, but it’s a thin compensation when you’re wired for the coast.

This is the longest week of the shift rotation, and the house feels louder yet somehow emptier without my Morticia to come home to. Thank the gods for my ever-loyal dog, Magnus; he’s always glad to see me.

The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. 

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

I’ll be sharing more of my journey and the daily reality of staying grounded in the modern world over on social media. Join in:

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