In love with Blighty

At last, I have the answer to the eternal question “why is it always rainy and grey in England?”

Forget gulf streams and atmospheric pressure fronts, the real reason is that if it was sunny in England more often, it would be so totally awesomely wonderful that the rest of the world wouldn’t be able to bear it and the planet would explode from awesomeness. It’s what happened to Alderaan you know.

Okay, maybe I’m seeing things with the¬†fuchsia-tinted glasses of 23 years of homesick nostalgia, but on our recent trip back to England, I have to admit I fell in love with my home country all over again.

I blame the cream teas. Who could resist warm scones, thick clotted cream and rich fruity jam?

Seriously, wave this at any invading force and they'll calm right down...
Seriously, wave this at any invading force and they’ll calm right down…

On a bright and sunny Monday, we stopped off for lunch in Canterbury. I can’t remember if I have ever visited the city before, and I was certain Husband hadn’t, so we went off on a little detour on our way from the Tunnel to London. Have I mentioned before that I love that tunnel? I wish I could go everywhere by Channel Tunnel. It is the best.

Canterbury was a concentrated dose of lovely, with buskers on the streets, half-timbered houses and cobbled streets. A proper picture postcard of a place. And that’s just the thing: when the sun comes out, the postcards come to life!

Once we arrived in London the sun was still beaming down and we had several days of fair weather, allowing us to wander and muse through the streets of the big smoke, instead of the usual umbrella-dodging hurried head-down walk. On one occasion, I think we may have even sauntered.

So England is wonderful and beautiful and charming and lovely. You all knew that already, right? For sure. But what I love the most are Londoners. Well, Brits in general I guess. The banter is mighty. From market stall holders to Tube station attendants, Museum staff to bus drivers, everyone has a little something to say, a joke to share. The French don’t have a word for banter. It’s not a thing. I miss banter more than I miss sausages, and that’s saying something.

Ok, random lovey rant over. Keep calm, carry on and all that.

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