In which I realise how much I miss Americans

Thinking today about how we’ve had a year without US (and Canadian- Bitsy) guests. It’s been a season of home grown visitors which has been lovely.

But oh, my American buddies, I miss your sheer joy at being here. Your eternal quests for ancestry, your delight at eggs with bright orange yolks, the fact that I constantly forget that you and I mean different things by *pants* (so when you ask me if I ever wear pants to work expect a sharp intake of breath), the book recommendations you give me, the way you sing Amazing Grace while driving the single track roads. American guests have comforted me when I sobbed the morning the Brexit vote came out, ‘made’ me drink more tequila than is good for me, showed me bits of Skye I didn’t know were there, gifted me some some highly dubious fashion items, shared vow renewals and proposals, welcomed Johnny and me in New York, spread the word, recommended us to their mates to help us grow our business and blessed me with so many friends that I’m certain will be with me for life.

So here’s to you, chums across the water. We  can’t wait to see you again. For now here is a wonderful memory from 2018 when our Yoga Ladies took us for New York pizza.