Now that my children are adults, long past the chaos of school holidays, I’ve discovered the joys of travelling in September.
Flights are cheaper, the sea is still warm, and there’s a quiet thrill in avoiding the crowds—especially families piling sand into your drinks at the beach (though sangria gives me a headache these days, you get the idea).
Even amid magical sunsets and charming plazas, no matter how dreamy a holiday feels, I always look forward to returning home.
There’s something comforting about the familiar rhythm of life in Britain: the Shipping Forecast on Radio 4, Antiques Roadshow on a Sunday evening, the smell of wood smoke, a cosy pub, and a pack of salt and vinegar crisps.
A Childhood Split Between Countries
My love for home isn’t surprising. I spent my childhood in Italy, where my parents emigrated in the 1970s after Britain’s economic and social turmoil made opportunities scarce.
They embraced the Italian lifestyle with open arms: endless summers, cheap wine, and a relaxed, chaotic charm that stood in stark contrast to suburban Stourbridge, where my father had worked for British Steel.
For me, however, it was different. Despite the sun and beauty, I missed England—the cool, grey skies, Listen With Mother, Jackanory, Bagpuss, and splashing in puddles in yellow wellies.
I craved order, routine, and trips back to visit grandparents or relatives, moments that grounded me and reminded me of home.
Returning to a Familiar Britain
As soon as I was able, I returned. Britain spoke to me in a way Italy never did: the queues, respect for rules, clearly signposted roads, people drinking tea, and the sense that society had a moral compass.
Unlike Italy, with its chaotic services and corruption, Britain felt safe, orderly, and principled.
By the mid-1980s, Margaret Thatcher’s government had begun restoring economic stability, making the country feel like a haven.
A Country in Chaos
Fast forward to today, and that haven feels like a distant memory.
Britain is now a mess: a government riddled with hypocrisy, a police force obsessed with trivialities instead of real crime, a taxation system that punishes hard work, and a welfare system that fails those truly in need.
Add to that a politicised NHS, uncontrolled immigration, rising sectarianism, and public services stretched thin.
Even those who might try to help seem consumed by personal ambition.
The idea of the Right uniting feels laughable, and for the first time in my life, I dread returning home.
Instead of excitement and relief, I feel melancholy, longing for somewhere else.
Politics, Celebrities, and Everyday Oddities
Meanwhile, public life continues to amuse and frustrate.
The Mayor of London racks up enough air miles to fly to the moon and back attending climate summits.
Celebrities at red carpet events continue to wear ill-fitting outfits, like Aimee Lou Wood’s baggy corset at the Emmys or Sydney Sweeney’s tightly squished ensemble.
Even state visits provide comic relief. Donald and Melania Trump’s recent stay at Winfield House revealed the chaos that follows, with the first lady humorously noting that the helicopter damaged the gardens.
Then there are quirky reminders of British life: Reform’s top team could moonlight as a boyband, the ‘See it, say it, sorted’ slogan is being revamped (and possibly misremembered as ‘See it, say it, sort it’), and touching farewells, like the moving service for the Duchess of Kent, demonstrate the enduring values of our society.
Nostalgia and Reality Collide
Despite the chaos abroad and the upheavals at home, my experiences have reinforced a simple truth: Britain has a rhythm and a soul that stays with you.
Yet, with the current state of politics and society, that comfort feels increasingly fragile.
As I pack up my holiday bags and head back to Gatwick, the familiar thrill of returning home is replaced by a deep, wistful longing—proof that sometimes nostalgia collides with reality in the most bittersweet ways.