I clearly recall the month I spent in Europe alone in 1998, and the wonderful people I met. The British have a corner on the market when it comes to warmth and hospitality. It's nothing for them to scoot over in their McDonald's booth and invite you to join their family if you should find yourself with nowhere to sit. Thirty minutes later you are fast friends and are familiar with the names of both their children and dogs. On those many train rides from village to village I experienced tidbits of England merely from gazing through the grime-streaked and clattering windows.
Swans glide in a dignified manner down their rivers and streams like our ducks do back at home.
In fields where we would see cattle they have sheep. Daffodils and pansies seem to bloom earlier than they do at home, and are everywhere. They're tucked into heavy black cast iron kettles on the front stoops of tiny cottages, masses of them are carefully planted into window boxes. It seems virtually all of the windows are adorned with white lace curtains and everyone has at least one rose bush of some size. I spent one bitterly cold evening walking around Pinner, Middlesex, about a twenty-minute train ride northwest of London, and stopped into a small restaurant for a sandwich.