When you go traveling you're supposed to find out new things about yourself. I've just been traveling for about a year, and I found out nothing til I got back. I discovered how much I love home.
There's nothing like being in other countries to make you realise how wonderful England is. Disembarking from my aircraft was like surfaceing from an eternity spent under water. Everything was back as it should be:
The t-less accent
The obscenely lush grass and general foliage
The oppressive, grey, chilly August sky
The heaps of "dismal suburbia", as my dad put it
Nice old doddery ladies with curly white hair
Hairless middle-aged men wearing five layers and muttering soft obsenities at the tube train
The creepy ooze that finds its way into the cracks of everything, especially bus windows
Ridiculous teenage girls with scarves and "ug" boots
Steaming cups of perfect -perfect!- tea
Kkkkrazzzy Kebab Shops
Cars that indicate more than half a second before turning
The usual apocalypse blaring out from three-inch high shock-horror headlines (Even the Economist welcomed me with a front page proclaiming Britiain would be electicityless within weeks)
The whole country seems - always has and always will - plunged into a nation-wide psychosis. Everyone is completely delusional. But the reason I love it more than anything in the world is that no matter how insane everything here is, it's so full of soul. The place is palpably deep, heaving with depth. It gives one life force, like a drug.
I swore that I would never be nationalistic enough to love a country, but I LOVE England. Ach bah humbug.
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