I am a child of England, of wood and hill and greensward. Of rain and winter and far-flung heritages condensed to make this quiet living man. I would always wish to be in a changing temperate environment of open green meadows that roll way dreams and are dotted with Friesians and buttercups. I would take the odd week’s sun but I should miss an evening dappled in sunlight, or a dewy morning alive with birdsong.