In true Elizabeth Gilbert style I’m sobbing on the bathroom floor, feeling the cold tile beneath me, clutching my towel to my face. Then I sit bolt upright, stunned by a realization. I stagger to my feet and rush to my laptop. Before I can give myself a chance to rethink my epiphany, I dash …

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Last night was the first time in three years I’ve cried because I missed home. I had a craving for fields. Yes fields. And woods. And the smell of bonfires. And strawberries. Summer and autumn sights and smells. So if you dropped me back in the UK right now I’d swear at the cold and …

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Home. What do we think of when we think of home? (oooh I realize that was very Carry Bradshaw sounding…I apologise…I won’t now deliver another 498 words of angst about not yet being married/ having a baby / finding love with someone with the improbably stupid moniker of Big). For a while now I’ve been …

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