We’ve moved over to the other side of Bradford, Leicester Street off Wakefield Road. I don’t know why we have moved and never will. We’re in a small house, a back to back. The kitchen is a sink on the wall, the toilet is outside, and I share a bed with my sister. It’s cramped and cold but we have a TV, a black and white one. I remember watching the TV but not what the programme was. We’re not here long. I have few memories of Leicester Street. The house is not there now. It was pulled down years ago together with my memories of living here.
Moving to Leicester Street
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The Autistic FellRunner
I am a 52 year old male with a late diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome. I enjoy writing in all forms about people and life. I enjoy running over the moors where my mind can be free from the stresses of everyday life. I am currently studying for a PhD in autism and aging. I hope you enjoy my writing and please feel free to leave a comment. Thank you for taking the time to visit my site. View all posts by The Autistic FellRunner
The Autistic FellRunner 
This is something I experienced a few times, the physical place where memories got built is torn down, But I guess it just shows us how precious the memories are outside time and space? 🙂
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Yes I can agree with that 🙂
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That’s uncomfortable. I did something close after a divorce.
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