You can tell you’re back in England when…

… you’re reading a copy of the News of the World someone left sat on the tube seat and once again you find yourself asking “why the hell do people read this shit?”

… you have the best, most filling breakfast in ages despite knowing it’s furring your arteries faster than lining them with badger pelt.

… you’re behind a heavily pregnant woman in a newsagents who buys all her groceries; then a lottery card; then 20 fags.

… a chocolate bar costs around 50p and there’s no excuse like the fact that the shop has to import it in from another country.

… a bus ride costs a quid.

… it’s glorious sunshine despite all the news for the last 3 weeks saying it’s been pissing down (happens every time I come home).

… I can finally top up my mobile without having to contend with a broken bloody website (thanks, Vodafone you wankers).

… I don’t see anyone flying their national flag in their gardens or on buildings any more.

… the quality of written and English I’m encountering is worse than that in most of the other countries I’ve been to for the last 4 months.

… encountering traffic driving on the left is not unexpected.

… I can find more than one type of beer in each bar I go to.

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