Home, they say, is where the heart is. Why is it, then, that flying over the early morning patchwork of English countryside coming in to land at Heathrow Airport brings the same tears to my eyes as when flying over Moreton Bay, coming in to land at Brisbane Airport after being away for a while? And why do I feel the same exhilaration looking out over Laguna Bay from Noosa National Park, as I do in an English country garden in the spring? Who knows? Nostalgia or pathetic romance?

Either way,  right now, the English country gardens are blooming. Beautifully. And I spent an Australian Mother’s Day with my English family at our home-from-home in the county of Kent, dubbed the Garden of England. I’m not mixed up, just lucky. We’ve been basking in sunshine since we arrived – warm sunshine, and last week we visited a most beautiful, quintessential English garden ablaze with all the spring and early summer flowers, driving through country lanes to get there, verges carpeted with bluebells, and villages with ancient churches and horseback riders and tractors, and Oast houses converted into lovely homes with apple orchards and ponds. Monet, eat your heart out!

Then there was the traffic! Now I love driving in England – it’s very organised, disciplined and makes one feel safe – on the motorways. Not so on the narrow country  one-vehicle-wide lanes. At the rush hour. That’s when all the London commuters assemble on one big race track, eager to get home from their offices in the city, to their desirable residences in the country. They know the roads, we don’t (yet).   So it was with a great deal of nervousness on my part as THE passenger that we eventually made it home. A strong, long, G&T sundowner was promptly set in front of me! I needed it.

However, we have managed to travel efficiently and safely to see family and friends and to have days out in the country visiting heritage homes and gardens, with the essential stops for lunch at cosy pubs or inns for some real ale and pub grub. I’ve also planned a trip to Scotland as well as a week in Cornwall visiting old haunts. And I’m hoping to do some art workshops, whilst Peter plays the inevitable rounds of golf on nearby courses recently discovered. But most importantly, we have re-introduced ourselves to our adorable English grandsons of almost three and four years old. They possibly thought we lived in the iPad until now! Sitting in the garden at our swap home, and explaining to our very bright four-year-old that we live in Australia, and how far we’d travelled to get here  – more than TEN times longer than a recent flight they did to Scotland, so their father told them – the eldest, Harry, pondered, frowning and puzzled for a while, then looked at me and said, ‘So…Nana – is this Australia, then?’ How could you not melt into a sad smile and hug him to bits…