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Coming here is like... coming home

Getting off the bus in Lindisfarne, I had this overwhelming sense of coming home. It's a small town, somewhere around 200 people, that swells in size every day due to the tourists. It seemed to be a very friendly place - there were kids and dogs running around, a tea-shop that got so overcrowded they were sitting people on benches in the back yard, and a museum curator who, after I bought my membershipt to the English Heritage Society insisted on calling me Miss Pearce for the rest of the day.

I didn't explore as much of the village as I would have liked, but everywhere I went made me feel at home. It's hard to explain. I've lived in places that I recall as being smaller (has anyone heard of Collington, AB?), and I've often yearned for a village live like that. (Yes, I went insane in Vegreville, but it's a small town with a lot of small town attitudes. I'd suspect that a town that doubles or triples inside every day for a few hours would have a different attitude towards that, and with Berwick-upon-Tweed being a 30 minute bus ride across the causeway, I think I could at least escape for a few hours and buy a book or something.)

It's just... everything about the place felt right.

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