Yesterday I returned from a special place. A place of old bridges and wooden ships and crumbly buildings of flint and stone. A place where there are heathlands that go on for miles and pebbley seashores and tidal flats and tall pines by the sea. Where row-houses with orange chimneys give way to red, red poppy fields and lonely, wild sand dunes. A place where the weather is cool but the hearts are warm, where old friends meet and sit whispering in the shadow of a giant clock that all the while stands there tick-tick-ticking, reminding me that soon I must fly away again.