Miles Collins

A Return to an Old Stomping Ground…

I’ve not been at my usual ‘web desk’ for the past couple of days, a new role in my professional alter ego means that there will be periods of rather erratic blog posting times I am afraid but future posts should, in time cover a broader spectrum. That’s all I shall say for now!

I’ve just returned from a business trip to the English Lake District, the first time that I have been back to my former home/place of work in eleven years and it felt strange to say the least. The Southern Lakes are truly beautiful, the scenery, people and quality of life is quite different from anywhere else in England and I’ve missed it. Stepping out from my hotel room before breakfast I watched a small steam train pass by the fast flowing river which, I am told is home to a good salmon run and I shall post some photographs in due course.

Picking up a copy of the local newspaper I turned the page to see a photograph of three company directors I used to work for and from that came more memories and discussions of people and places I had gotten to know so well but had long since lost touch with. I drove past old stone walls, mountains, woods, fields, rolling hills, rivers, old farmhouses and cottages, I recalled early evenings casting a fly rod for a hungry trout as the sun began to set, early misty mornings in the quiet of winter, walking along a tarn, drinking in the fresh air, watching the wildlife and embracing the solitude.

Last week I drove back to my home town and visited my brother. I rang him to say I would be earlier than anticipated. I called from the car park of the hotel where it all began for me over twenty years ago. The scene of early culinary disasters on my part, periods of self-doubt and heartbreak and a chef who had the biggest influence on my career and whose personality and standards shaped the person I am today.

I called my brother from the comfort of a supercharged luxury Mercedes, not my own but an improvement on my method of transport back then-my legs. It would have been easy to gloat, a ‘look at me now’ moment but I never did. Looking out across that river I recalled that car park moment and how I had come full circle and how, despite my moderate success I couldn’t help but look back with a sad refrain.