There's No Place Like Home

I got back to France a few days ago, revealing my utter lack of foresight and cleverness because, unlike just about every other language assistant in Brittany, I managed to be delayed due to snow going home, and perfectly on time coming back. Yes, my boyfriend and I had to wait for six hours in Dinard airport, which is the size of the average Scout Hut and boasts, in terms of catering facilities, a single vending machine which grew steadily emptier as the night drew on until, finally, some brave soul caved in to hunger and actually ate the Snickers bars out of sheer desperation. There was a distinct lack of panic or dissent among the stranded passengers which would be surprising were it not for the fact that the tannoy announcer, either deliberately or through incompetence, gave different translations in French and English. The French announcement explained that our plane was still stuck in Stansted and could not take off, so there may or may not be a flight that night; the English version simply stated that there was a delay. Given that the vast majority of the passengers were English, I'd wager that we were two of very few who actually knew the full story. Still, the time passed pleasantly enough, with my boyfriend and I exchanging Flanders & Swann and Tom Lehrer songs, to the bewilderment utter irritation delight of those around us. Eventually, some enterprising teenage boy called his friend, who evidently worked in a pizza takeaway restaurant in Dinard, and began taking orders, with twenty or so delicious pizzas being delivered shortly afterwards. When in a crisis, you can always rely on the French to ensure that, whatever else, everybody is well fed.

Anyway, I digress; we got home eventually and, though I love being in France, it felt marvellous to be home. Aside from the obvious things like friends, family, and my partner, here are just some of the things I've missed about the UK:

- Tuna and cucumber sandwiches on thick, white, sliced bread. In fact, sliced bread in general.

- Lucozade

- Pringles

- Boost bars

- A decent curry. After months of only being able to find the odd pot of Korma or, occasionally, Tikka Massala, how I longed for a Balti, a Madras, a Rogan Josh, a Biryani, a Jalfrezi, a Pasanda, a Saag Dal, a Dopiaza... How I would have given my right arm for a poppadom.

- The Suffolk accent. I never thought I'd miss this, but I couldn't help but smile as I listened to my grandad and his wife singing (Suffolk people don't talk; they sing) about the local gossip.

- Christmas crackers

- Mince pies

- My Dad's home-made Scotch eggs

- Christmas stockings

- Good old-fashioned English hypocrisy. People are just so damn honest here. One of my French housemates was looking at my Facebook profile picture and cooing over the lovely costume, when she remarked casually, "Of course, you were much thinner then. Or were you sucking in your abs?" There was absolutely no malice or ill will intended in this; she was merely speaking her mind and, of course, she was correct, although I hold the local boulangeries almost entirely to blame for this. I took no offence, knowing full well that none was intended, but couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for English false politeness.

- Topical, intelligent comedy, such as Have I Got News For You and The Now Show

- Radio 4 altogether, in fact

- Trivial Pursuit

- The words 'wretched', 'codswallop' and 'numpty'. (I clearly keep good company)

- Impromptu dancing with my Mum in the kitchen

- Corner shops that you can dash to at 11pm for a bag of ice for your Baileys

- Kahlua

- Milk in tea and coffee

- Honey Nut Cornflakes

- Self-deprecatory humour

- Christmas carols (especially my favourite, It Was On A Starry Night)

- Shoes that cost less than £100

- Primark. Yay for child labour.

- Auld Lang Syne

- Being trusted enough as an adult to buy aspirin from a supermarket instead of having to go to a pharmacy

- Words only my family use, like wallies (for pickled cucumbers), sniggies (for nail clippers), hum-hums (for those small Dairy Milk chocolates you get in tins of Quality Street) and spoinks (for Daddy-Long-Legs)

- Not having to kiss everybloodybody you meet

- Not having to make an effort when listening to a conversation or the radio

- Santa's Grotto, as my house becomes every Christmas

- Muntjack deer and foxes in the garden

- And, naturally, that English dish which caused the French to nickname us after it, roast beef.