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Confessions of an Anglophile

O, England: How I long for thee.

In my everyday life at home in Los Angeles, California, 5456 miles (8781 km) from the UK, I rely on the huge expat community here for immersion in English accents, the solid thwack of a Terry’s Chocolate Orange and a gentle spot of afternoon tea. I keep my eye on the BBC, bookmark cheap flights to London and make great big British plans.

But in my fantasy life, I have a wonderful flat on a quiet mews in Chelsea, hemmed in by a wrought-iron gate and overgrown with ivy. I work my steady way through all the neighborhood pubs in London, the West End’s theatre scene, all 5,000 acres of the Royal Parks. I even agree to settle on a football team.

I spend my weekends in Landmark Trust cottages, tramping across the Yorkshire Dales and tasting new wines on the Cornish Coast. Perched on chalky white cliffs, I point my smiling face into winds brought ‘cross the Strait of Dover. I wander the cobbled Tudor streets of the Cotswolds, roam the manicured grounds of fine Essex estates and swan around the gentle idylls of the Lake District like a heroine from a Jane Austen novel (who just happens to be wearing pants).

It’s a merry old English existence, that. Even from an entire continent away.

So until my dream can someday be real, I’ll just keep thinking up reasons to visit London, and I’ll share my knowledge and passion for the perfect UK journey here with you, posted on WhyGo England.