Missing history. A bit. Just a little. Like a half a cup maybe.

Today I had planned to write about my standing sushi lunchdates with my bear. Fish and toddlers is actually way more fun than it sounds.

But I got a bit of a homesick.

Firstly of all let me say that I love Toronto. I really love it. with hearts. and kisses. Moving here from London has been one of the best and healthiest changes in my life. It was like breaking up with Charlie Sheen (eew) and hooking up with Matthew Broderick. Which is not to say that London is Charlie Sheen (still eeew) just that the way we lived in London was harder.

But. I sometimes miss history.
Occasionally I will see a picture of London, or Paris or Rome, or a village in the home counties or even the font used on British street signs and get a jab of homesickness that's like being punched in the kitten.

Everything here is so new. Which in lots of ways is awesome. It means we can live in the center of town, means the public transport rocks, means the infrastructure works like a charm and on and on and on.
But I miss the buildings that I grew up with; the comfortable, self-assured decrepitude of an Early Edwardian Semi.
I miss having centuries of history RIGHT there, an eyeball flick(or the wave of a National Trust card) away.
The potential for being someplace COMPLETELY different and equally steeped in history in a few hours is something I miss too. My Dad lives in France, my mum in Ireland. My Brother lived in Barcelona before he came here. Racing around Europe was so easy, just a Eurostar/Easyjet/Ryan-stinking-Air jaunt away.

OK. Whining over. Because really... these are not the worst problems in the world...

But if you happen to be anywhere near a crumbling pile/Norman church/Victorian Semi this weekend could you blow it a kiss from me?
Oh hey lookit! Corfe Castle!