It is true a nomad can flutter a mile here and a mile there, or may even stay an extended period in one place. Gypsies for instance, often do not travel at all even though they will call themselves travellers. For them the term will apply to their ancestry and will be a tribute to the ever existent consciously suppressed urge to move onto the next destination.
And for me the comfort of being localised around a particular area has come to an end. For last week and this week I will be completing the 250 mile trip up to the Pennines. There, surrounded by majestic hills and wandering sheep, I will connect my tin can of a van into an electric hookup. And thus for me, once again my home is a different home. Lacking the creature comforts of a nice caravan I shall commute to a new place of work from my rusty old van to an office located deep into the intestines of that fascinating city of Huddersfield. I feel an irony within me - to be implementing advanced technology into a city where the Luddites fought viciously against the implementation of milling machinery that would render them bankrupt. Isn't there always a darker, sinister side to innovation?
I shall enjoy my time in the hills of Yorkshire. I shall learn about the fine architecture to be found here. I shall hike the hills and frequent the Inns and befriend the locals. And if there is some sadness to be once again drifting from place to place following the work, there is also some recognition that this is my life, and this is how my life has been for years and years.
So when you see the new suit in the office. The man with the temporary visitor's badge hanging around his neck. The man who documents and implements a project commissioned by your company - instead of ignoring him, or tripping out on your power over the vendor; ask him how far he travelled to do some work for your company, and ask him about his life. This he will appreciate, being as always, alone in a little known place whose only companionship will be the strangers in the Inn while he orders his evening meal.
And for me the comfort of being localised around a particular area has come to an end. For last week and this week I will be completing the 250 mile trip up to the Pennines. There, surrounded by majestic hills and wandering sheep, I will connect my tin can of a van into an electric hookup. And thus for me, once again my home is a different home. Lacking the creature comforts of a nice caravan I shall commute to a new place of work from my rusty old van to an office located deep into the intestines of that fascinating city of Huddersfield. I feel an irony within me - to be implementing advanced technology into a city where the Luddites fought viciously against the implementation of milling machinery that would render them bankrupt. Isn't there always a darker, sinister side to innovation?
I shall enjoy my time in the hills of Yorkshire. I shall learn about the fine architecture to be found here. I shall hike the hills and frequent the Inns and befriend the locals. And if there is some sadness to be once again drifting from place to place following the work, there is also some recognition that this is my life, and this is how my life has been for years and years.
So when you see the new suit in the office. The man with the temporary visitor's badge hanging around his neck. The man who documents and implements a project commissioned by your company - instead of ignoring him, or tripping out on your power over the vendor; ask him how far he travelled to do some work for your company, and ask him about his life. This he will appreciate, being as always, alone in a little known place whose only companionship will be the strangers in the Inn while he orders his evening meal.
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