I’ve been back home visiting my folks for the past couple of days. They read this, so don’t be expecting any uncomplimentary remarks, not that I’d do that anyway!

It’s been quite some time since I’ve been home. Even longer since my brother and I were both here. Since he was in the country this weekend, I took the opportunity to catch up with my whole family at once. My immediate family, anyway.

It’s always odd coming back to your childhood stomping grounds. There’s always something different to how you remember it, whether it’s a new housing development that never used to be there, the fact that your childhood home now has double-glazed windows (despite past insistences that would never happen) or the cars across the road being a different colour. Changes are always particularly striking when you’ve been away for a while.

The biggest change since I grew up here is probably the silence. I don’t know if it’s the fact the cat is no longer with us, the fact that the aforementioned double-glazing keeps the noise out quite well or simply that there’s not been any music on the stereo while I’ve been here. But I’ve become so accustomed to living in a relatively noisy environment – living in a city centre, enjoying activities that make noise – that the silence here is strange. It feels like something’s missing, like it should be filled with something,

But silence doesn’t have to be filled. There’s no need for noise all the time. Perhaps John Cage was on to something when he composed 4’33”.

Funny where your mind wanders in the silence of the dead of night.