In the throes of UK yearning.
I’m currently going through a phase that feels like UK nostalgia. And this is strange, because the time I’ve spent in any English-speaking country is best measured in days—or weeks, if you are generous. “Any English-speaking country” is a euphemism, too: I’ve only been to England, three times.
Be that as it may, I seem to be suffering from an acute case of wanderlust1.
To alleviate the fixation, I visited a store in my neighbourhood called Le comptoir irlandais. It sells imported foodstuffs from the British Isles (most doesn’t come from Ireland), all sorts of knock-knack, and attractive but expensive knitwear. When I got out, I had acquired a packet of Ginger Nuts (surprisingly spicy), two types of loose tea in pretty tin canisters, some Marmite (never tried that), shortbread, lemon curd, and an earthenware mug that’s yellow inside and decorated with vaguely rainbow-ish stripes. They also have very cute and soft sheep that can be hung from the door handle and say “open” on one side and “closed” on the other. Might be a good birthday present for my niece, who has just started elementary school. (Plus, she’d learn two words of English.)
1 I had to consult Leo on that: We actually say Fernweh in German, a word which connotes painful yearning. The dictionary also suggests itchy feet, but this reminds me too much of athlete’s foot.
Have you tried the Marmite yet? A taste best acquired young, I’d suggest. I was brought up on the vaguely equivalent Australian delicacy Vegemite, and I still can’t stomach the British version.
And please don’t discard “itchy feet”. It is a lovely phrase – so explanatory.