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With the rain hammering down all day yesterday it was hard to remember how warm and sunny the last weeks have been. But the downpour did allow me to say home and not feel guilty about watching a film in the middle of the afternoon, while sipping tea and packing gifts for my family in Germany.

I still have a lot to do before I am ready to board the plane tomorrow, but I have managed to tick a few things off my list while staying in and feeling cosy.

There is something about the sound of rain drumming against the window that just makes you want to put on woolly socks and drink a hot cup of tea. And while little rivers ran down my windows I couldn’t help but think about how much I enjoy just being home.

Not that I don’t love going away, exploring foreign lands or the beauty of Ireland, or seeing my friends and family that live so far away or even close by, but there is something about the home we create around ourselves that allows us to be completely free.

All the trinkets, photos, books and pictures we collect and display are tiny bits of our lives, things that have made us who we are.  The music we listen to, the films we watch, the books we read represent our tastes, as does the food in our fridge.

Home is where we want to be when we feel unwell or unhappy, we want to cuddle up with our own familiar things and allow ourselves to do as we please, no matter what convention dictates.

But no matter how much we enjoy our own four walls we should never allow them to become our world. Because only when we wander out, into the every day and the unknown, can we find those treasures we so proudly display and experience those moments that make us feel alive.

The home  should be the treasure chest of living.

Le Corbusiere

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