Back in May I was over in Germany for a few visits and family functions. While I was there I stayed a few nights with my godmother in the house I lived in as a child. From the ages 10 to 17 I lived in a small village up near the North Sea, across the road from farms and with an orchard and a tiny wood in the back. A curly haired girl, barefoot and in a skirt, who dreamed of living in the city while picking apples.
Spending time in my childhood home was a wonderfully strange and somewhat magical experience and I have the photos to prove it: