Almost a year ago, I officially moved out for the first time to live in a 1 bedroom council flat with my partner in a small town called Fauldhouse.
Since I moved here, it’s been cold.
Fauldhouse, at 750 ft. above sea level is one of the highest villages in West Lothian, and due to its elevation Fauldhouse can also be very cold – this led to my dad (accurately!) nicknaming it ‘Cauldhoose’.
We had no heating for the first few months here – November, December, January and February – just when you need it most. I remember, when I would come in from being out somewhere, my hands and feet would be numb, and I would wrap myself up in bed and shiver until the cold sent me to sleep.
But even when we finally got heating, it still felt cold. There were many factors that contributed to this: an unknown place, not knowing anyone here, being away from friends and family, a run-down house, no money and of course, the isolation of the coronavirus. The odds were stacked against us, and as the physical cold retreated the atmospherical cold settled in.
Since coming here I’ve struggled to feel connected to this place, but the everyday experiences and memories I have of Fauldhouse have contributed more than I realised to my perception of it and how connected I truly am. I will be sharing some tales narrated by me – the protagonist – of my time here, building up my own narrative of ‘Cauldhoose’.
