Love is...

Sophie was completely besotted. There was no other word for it. She hung on his every word. Smitten, her mum would have said. When he left the room her eyes followed him, and when he re-entered, the room simply lit up.

Every night, cuddling by the fire: he with his warm, knitted jumpers and she with a blanket, keeping the cold and the rest of the world at bay. When he glanced down at her, she melted.

He reached over, gently stroking her head. Come on then girl, walkies! Sophie bounced up, and, with her tail wagging excitedly, followed him out into the garden.

Rain, what rain?

Fish and chips, Stafford, Train journeys to shopping cities, beautiful countryside, Sunday lunch, welcoming arms and happiness kisses, pub lunches, pub dinners, hell, pub any time, high streets with Georgian buildings, parks, Kedleston Hall, expensive petrol, Tescos, Peterborough, Liverpool and Birmingham, Blists Hill Victorian Village, Ironbridge, glorious views, people who 'get' my English jokes, grass that is lush and green, family gossip, carpets under your feet at home, people I love and who love me, wine for 4 quid a bottle (and you can buy it anywhere), small cars, people who say 'excuse me', 'please' and 'thank you', swings and see-saws, trees - loads and loads of trees, umbrellas and wellington boots, yorkshire pudding, banks that know what they're doing, Macdonald's breakfasts, coffee with friends and girl's nights out, libraries and second hand bookshops, rivers and lakes, cobbled streets, Shakespeare outside, hills and walks, castles and people dressed up in costumes, and most of all: family.

England, my England.