Waking up to the hiss of radiators, I feel cold air rush up to meet my bare feet as I swing them out of bed. Groggy, I nearly bump my head on the low eaves and pull back the curtain to find bright sunshine at this ungodly hour. I wash my face under burning hot and freezing cold water from the double taps, and squeak across the floorboards to the toilet down the hall.
Welcome to another day in England.
Looking back on the posts I've written since coming to live here, I realize how little I've talked about the everyday things. Of course there's the usual shopping for food, navigating outlet-free bathrooms, and breaking into Chinese restaurants, but as a blog reader recently pointed out, I haven't really said whether I like living here as an expat on a day-to-day basis.
The answer: yes. Hands down.
At first I wondered if the charm of Britain would rub off, if working and eating and reading and traveling in this country every day for a year would change the way I felt about it. It hasn't. Of course some of the glitz and glamor has gone (see my post, The Dream Dies), but that wasn't the part that counted. The sparkle of my interest in Britain was like the powerful attraction that starts a romance. What is left when the first attraction has faded is a deep, abiding love.
Contrary to what you might have gathered from my posts here, I don't spend every single day tripping around the countryside, climbing hills and eating traditional fare in seaside villages. There's plenty of that, but most of my life involves stuff like this: