i just realised why some of melbourne’s cobblestone laneways give me such a visceral feeling…

as a kid, my grandfather would take me to where he grew up - a tiny cottage in the middle of ireland that had been in our family for hundreds of years to access it, you’d go down a lane, densely covered with trees & bushes - the “bóithrín”, or boreen in anglicised irish it was like being in a tim burton movie, that lane being a time tunnel to my past - we’d go cut some turf from the bog, and make toast on the open fire, literally sitting inside the huge hearth it’s nice to be able to go back in time still, even though i’m half a world away from my spiritual home