As the relentless English winter rain drums against the office shed, a profound sense of misery and boredom begins to take hold. The writer admits that the seasonal gloom is finally getting to them, having exhausted all their optimism by January while clinging to the faint promise of longer days. This melancholic state triggers an unexpected bout of homesickness, not for familiar comforts, but for the dramatic weather events of their American hometown.
Scrolling Through Snowstorms and Hurricane Envy
For the past ten minutes, they have been immersed in the website of their hometown newspaper, captivated by images of recent snowfall measuring over a foot, with more predicted in the coming days. It is a peculiar form of nostalgia that emerges; extreme weather events, from blizzards to hurricanes, evoke a strange longing. The writer confesses to hating the idea of missing out on a hurricane, highlighting the ironic pull of destructive natural phenomena when contrasted with the dreary, predictable English winter.
A Roundabout Revelation Collides Worlds
Another local headline from the American paper catches their eye, one so surprising it seems almost unbelievable at first glance. The town is about to install its first ever roundabout at the intersection of Wilson and Meadow Street. This news is shared with the oldest family member the next morning, only to be met with a reminder that it was already excitedly announced the day before. The writer reflects on the surreal collision of worlds, expressing uncertainty about how to process this development.
Over the thirty years since leaving the United States, the country has transformed from one largely unfamiliar with roundabouts to one embracing them with fervent enthusiasm. In the article, the town's director of transport is quoted optimistically stating, "I think it's going to look great," as if discussing the installation of an ornamental fountain rather than a traffic management feature. This casual remark underscores the cultural shift and the writer's dislocated perspective.
An Escape to the Unknown Country Park
Seeking a diversion from the winter doldrums, the writer's wife proposes a dog walk to a new location—a country park previously unheard of, just seven miles away. Despite initial scepticism about finding anywhere novel in their familiar surroundings, they embark on the journey. Traffic is heavy heading west, and conversation is sporadic as they navigate.
The writer's mind remains fixated on the roundabout news, mentioning it in relation to landmarks near the park, though their wife fails to grasp the connection. Upon arrival, the car park is lonely with only three other occupied vehicles, their occupants merely sitting inside, adding to the peculiar atmosphere of the outing.
Discovering History Amidst Modern Noise
In a steady drizzle, they follow a winding wooded path, with the writer frequently checking their phone to orient themselves. The dog enthusiastically tears through the trees and splashes along a shallow, rubbish-filled stream. The path eventually opens into a meadow, where the writer again brings up the American snowfall, receiving a simple "Wow" in response from their wife.
After completing a circuit around the open space while dodging large puddles, they return to the car park. The wife spots a church and suggests visiting it, to which the writer agrees with a resigned "Why not? We're here." With the dog on a lead, they take a path through trees to a churchyard surrounding a chapel with a squat brick tower. A woman scrubbing the front steps nods and smiles, permitting the dog inside.
Inside, the church's age becomes apparent. A man treating damp in the corner slowly rises to share its history, revealing that a church has stood on the site since Saxon times. He points out monuments and a 14th-century wall painting above the altar. Noticing the writer's gaze fixed on a marble tomb with the carved effigy of a woman, he identifies her as Anne Boleyn's great-great niece. For a long moment, the only sound is the roar of cars on the nearby M4 motorway, blending ancient history with modern noise.
Returning to Roundabout Reality
Back at the car, the writer remarks on the weirdness of the experience, while their wife emphasises the value of doing different things. A left turn out of the car park leads them under the motorway and onto a crowded roundabout. The writer cannot resist drawing a connection, prompting their wife to retort, "Shut up about your stupid roundabout," bringing the journey full circle—both literally and metaphorically—from homesick musings to tangible, traffic-filled reality.
