Homesickness, erm...

Sometimes I get a little homesick, remembering good times when I used to live in the UK. Sunny days bowling down some Roman Road in bright sunshine. Bright early mornings in Summer heading down to visit friends in Cornwall. Full speed ahead and damn the speed limits. Not that I would speed that much, because firstly, I have this little habit called breathing I'm rather fond of, and secondly; sometimes I just liked to pootle sedately down uncongested 'A' roads, getting van drivers tan on my right arm, and taking in the scenery at my own leisurely pace. Hang on Bill. Uncongested 'A' roads? In the UK? Where are they then? Isn't nostalgia wonderful?

I know I'm better off six thousand miles away when I hear of plans to interrogate everyone leaving the UK about where they are going and what they are going to do when they get there. I mean you're hardly going to have someone intent on a terrorist act write on their form "Yes, I'm off to a training camp for a couple of weeks to learn how to slaughter infidels." Oh for crying out loud. Their form will say "Off to spend two weeks with my ageing relatives who are all very ill." It's a meaningless, useless, pointless sop which will further increase the queues at airports. Lord help us. That and it's a UK Government IT project, doomed to failure. Those guys couldn't run a bloody bath properly. They're too busy ticking boxes. More taxpayers money down the toilet.

Upon reflection, maybe the nostalgia is better being just a memory. We cannot live in our past, only our present; while the past may be a different country and maybe you really can't get there from here, every time I look at the small print in the brochures, I'm less and less tempted to try.