I had always known my mum wanted to move away. Whenever we would take childhood trips through the Lego-model villages and sweeping valleys of the Dales or the Lake District she would always remark something along those lines. “When I retire and you two have gone off, I’d love to live here”, she would say, always with a blissful sigh. It was always the pleasant serenity of the countryside for her, always the thatched cottages and fields clad in sheep and summer hares. So, imagine the surprise when she announced that we were moving to a railwayman’s terrace in the centre of one of England’s busiest tourist towns.
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