The smell of our old carpets. Our cats have been gone for a while but sometimes, I still smell them. What’s more, sometimes I’m sure I can hear the tinkling bell of their collars. But now I’m just getting creepy!

Our friendly neighbours constantly walk past, who smile and wave through the window. Some might feel this is an invasion of privacy but in our cul-de-sac everyone knows everyone and we always stop for a chat. Besides, it’s our own fault for not putting up net curtains.

There doesn’t always seem to be much food at home. All of my family work or go to school so if I pop home from uni without giving much notice, I’d have to dig in the freezer for leftovers or be creative with tins from the cupboard.

Everything about here feels comforting; my great nanny’s cabinet of ornate glasses, my parents’ wedding photo hanging next to the case of my mum’s dance books and my dad’s Japanese figurines, the cacti sitting on the windowsills, the oil paintings, the coffer on the landing which I’ve broken both my little toes on by running upstairs too fast and kicking it (owch), the damp clothes hanging all around the house whatever the season, the grandmother clock donging every half an hour.

When I’m home, I often order than we visit my nan because she lives just a couple of towns away and we don’t see her often enough. My favourite food in the world is her fried chicken, rice and gongo beans with warm apple drink on the side. Her homemade fishcakes with flying fish gravy. My nan’s home is full of even more warm memories of playing with cousins, the noisy cuckoo clock popping out on the hour, lying on the sofa with a sickness bug watching old murder mystery programmes on the television, playing hide and seek behind the sheds in the garden, climbing the big old tree to pick green gages and banging away on the old piano in the side room before our granddad got out of his armchair to come shout at us. One day I would love my nan to teach me how to make chicken just the way she does. I should do this soon.