Well sure, the lively banter and joking in a real English pub, does well up a tear sometimes in the corner of my eye.
That look and smell of greenery that is in every English village, as we laugh at the postman getting chased down the street by Mrs Perriwinkle's Yorkshire terriers.
I miss the sound of leather on willow watching a local cricket match on a newly mowed pitch, with the vicar's wife wandering round half drunk on cider as she tries to sell strawberries and cream for a fiver a pot.
Yep, I sometimes miss all that as I sit out in the garden here in Portugal watching the embers of another grill session slowly burn down, as we finish off another bottle of Portugal's fine wines. Yup, but only sometimes.
What I really miss is proper fish and chips with mushy peas.
Real potatoes. None of that frozen plastic rubbish, or heaven forbid, Maccy D style fries.
Nope real full on fish and chips with mushy peas that glow like they came from a factory in Fukishima.
Or perhaps a serving of chip shop curry sauce on the side.
Much as I love me some Portugal and it's strange ways, there are quiet evenings I pine for English fish and chips.!