Pining for the Brecon Beacons

Pommies, in Australia, are famous for what the Aussies call ‘whinging’. Whether this is born of character or homesickness is debatable but, in the past, I have gone out of my way to resist the affliction. Returning to England this winter, however, my resolve was undone and I’ve been ‘whinging’ for Britain ever since.

My stepfather advised, ‘Never marry out of your class, it will lead to great unhappiness’, but, at the age of 24 and ornery, I promptly married both out of my class and country. Thirty years later I can confirm that he was wrong. Marrying outside my social class (I was upstairs, he was downstairs) has not led to ‘great unhappiness’. To the contrary, it opened my world, balanced my views, produced three spectacular children and, the clincher, I’m still married to the bugger. Not living in the country of my birth, however, (while ‘unhappiness’ would be too strong a word) recently rocked me with such a force of regret and sadness that I needed a large teaspoon of gripe water and a good lie-down in the bed I have made for myself.