I last lived in my home country, the UK, when I was twenty-one. Things have changed hugely since then — new slang, new politics, new prices — but the things I miss always seem to stay the same.
What I Miss
1) Some foods.
This is going to sound terrible coming from someone who’s lived in Italy and France — two of the best culinary Countries in the world — but I miss British food. There, I said it. Fish and chips, Heinz baked beans, Scotch eggs, salad cream, Cadbury’s Creme Eggs… all the beige and comforting things of my youth.
Yes, I can find some of them here in the south of France, tucked away in the “World Food” aisle, but they’re never quite the same. They taste different — like someone’s memory of them. It’s a bit like Guinness: somehow, it just tastes better in Ireland.
2) British TV.
True, I can watch plenty from here — I have Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Disney+ — but it’s not the same as having the BBC at your fingertips. There’s something deeply comforting about flicking through channels and finding an old episode of Ab Fab, or The Vicar of Dibley. It’s the sound of home, even when you’re not watching.
3) Pub culture.
This one belongs on both lists — things I miss and don’t miss.
I miss the easy camaraderie of it — finishing work and heading down to the pub for “just one,” which of course never meant one. It’s social, unpretentious, and part of the fabric of life in the UK.
But now that I’ve lived in France, I also appreciate the quieter rhythm here. The French don’t “go for a drink” so much as they sit with one — a glass of wine that lasts an hour, a conversation that lasts two. Both cultures have their charm; one loud, one languid.
4) Small talk.
After nearly ten years in France, working in a French company, I still miss being able to make small talk without thinking about it first.
In English, I can drift into conversation effortlessly — in queues, at bus stops, with strangers walking their dogs. In French, I have to rehearse it in my head, and by the time I’ve found the right words, the moment’s usually gone.
(You know exactly what I mean.)
What I Don’t Miss (So Much)
1) The weather, obviously.
There’s really no polite way to say it — the UK sky has moods. I used to tell myself I didn’t mind the rain, but after years in the south of France, I’ve realised I was lying. Sunshine changes everything: your outlook, your pace, your vitamin D levels. I still find myself instinctively checking the sky before leaving the house, then laughing because… of course it’s blue.
2) The stress.
Life in the UK feels like a race that nobody remembers signing up for. There’s this constant undercurrent of busyness — the rush-hour trains, the 24-hour everything, the subtle competition to be productive. France taught me that slowing down isn’t laziness; it’s living. No one here apologises for taking lunch.
3) Politeness as a full-time performance.
I love British manners, truly. But there’s a point where “sorry” stops meaning anything. I’ve apologised to doorways, lampposts, and once — memorably — to a pigeon.
In France, people are polite but direct. They’ll tell you if you’ve done something wrong. It’s refreshing, in a terrifying kind of way.
4) The grey.
Not just the sky, but the mood — the endless commuting, the neutral tones, the sense that everyone’s slightly damp and resigned. In France, even the smallest town feels alive with colour: shutters, markets, laughter from café terraces. I don’t miss the grey one bit.
Final Reflection:
I suppose living abroad teaches you this: missing and not missing can coexist.
You can long for certain things — flavours, sounds, familiar jokes — and at the same time, feel completely content where you are. Home becomes less about a place and more about the small comforts you carry with you.