Travel fiction – where the ‘right place’ transforms lives

Travel fiction – where the ‘right place’ transforms lives

No Weddings and A Funeral. Or Two.

No Weddings and A Funeral. Or Two.

by | May 27, 2021 | Anglophiles, British, British in the USA, citizenship, Exmoor, Expatriots, expats, hiraeth, Hireth, Homesickness, Living abroad, relocation, repatriation, search for home, Transatlantic, Travel

On May 31st, 2020 I crept through an empty international airport in Chicago. I sat alone, masked and gloved, on an almost empty jetliner and arrived at the ghost town that was Heathrow Airport in the early hours of June 1st. I thought those pandemic relocation...
This Is Exmoor Calling The Expat World

This Is Exmoor Calling The Expat World

by | Apr 29, 2021 | Anglophiles, Blog Post, British, British humor, British humour, British in the USA, citizenship, Exmoor, Expatriots, expats, hiraeth, Homesickness, Humor, Humour, immigrants, immigration, Living abroad, relocation, repatriation, search for home, Transatlantic, Travel

  I’m archaic enough to still find the ability to communicate simultaneously and instantaneously with people on every continent somewhat of a miracle. When someone in Australia or Bangladesh comments on my social media post five seconds after I posted it, it still...
Watson’s Excellent Exmoor Adventure

Watson’s Excellent Exmoor Adventure

by | Feb 28, 2021 | Blog Post

Watson strikes a pose on Exmoor Any parent will tell you, if the kids are happy, you’re happy. Well, for the most part. If drawing with permanent marker on the walls makes your child happy, you’re not happy. Eating an entire box of dry pancake mix or inviting college...
Does Humorous Travel Fiction Still Matter?

Does Humorous Travel Fiction Still Matter?

by | Jan 29, 2021 | Anglophiles, Blog Post, British humor, British humour, Exmoor, Expatriots, expats, hiraeth, Homesickness, Humor, Humour, Living abroad, relocation, repatriation, search for home, Travel, writer, writing

  New Year’s Eve. We all held our breath for Big Ben to strike midnight over the empty streets of London, like waiting for the starter pistol in a race to a free brunch buffet. We waited for the ball to drop high above deserted Time Square, the last ping pong ball in...