Six months and fifteen days ago, I was in Oxford, Endland, preparing to come back to Canada. I was horribly home sick. Right now, I would love to go back to England. I'm horribly home sick. I was going through someone's England blogs this afternoon, and I found this post:
What I will miss about England: crooked middle lines in the road, scaring sheep, british comedy at my fingertips, quaint cosy villages miles from anywhere, the impossibility of feeling dutch saturation, no one here hates me and I don't hate anyone here, the trees possess more personality than some people I know, so do the clouds, french tourist girls asking the way to Christ Church College, oxford swag, temperate weather, cheap wine, cheap cider, cheap beer, traffic circles, centuries-old wood panelling, plethora of Travis music videos, Blackadder, Bertie and Jeeves, the love of books, castles, lush green grass everywhere, Evensong.
What I won't miss: diesel engines, cellphones twittering every 3.7 seconds from any and all directions, suicidal currency exchange, 2 reoccuring weather patterns: a hanging 4 o'clock sun or overcast, every meat is mystery meat, prawn flavored chips, single-pane windows, train delays, the smell of wet dog in the kitchen, Jenn flicking me in the back of the head everytime she walks past, mud, BBC2.
With the exception of the french tourist girls, the Travis music videos and the suicidal currency exchange, I actually miss everything on both of those lists. Oh, and I guess the whole "Jenn flicking me in the back of the head everytime she walks past," as I can't say that I've ever actually done that to myself in the first place.
Someday I'll go back.