Forgive me if I seem to come across a bit Terry Pratchett for a moment.
Last week as Meg Rosoff and I worked our way through the veggie thali in Glasgow, she asked – again – why I’d moved all the way to Scotland. And If I like it in Stirling. (Well, we can’t all have lofts in central London!)
I went a little poetic on her, which probably came as a bit of a shock. But I have genuinely felt that one reason it’s lovely ‘up here’ is that there is so much sky. I marvel at it every day as I shuffle round the local streets, or even while taking the rubbish out to the bin.
There is a lot of sky here, compared to leafy Manchester suburbia. Which was very nice, in its own way, and we were happy there.
I used to stop and marvel at the blue sky every time I went to visit Daughter in St Andrews. Somehow I put it down to being near the sea. Now I realise it was more the absence of tall houses and trees. Like here.
And as I think about it, I wonder if I would not particularly like New York. From the sky point of view, anyway. I always imagined the reason I loved the landscape of my childhood were the flat expanses of open ground. Now I believe it might have been the sky above them.
End of poetic gibberish.