The Guardian was the newspaper that would fill my Saturday mornings when I lived at the top of the house in Finsbury Park. Of course, I could never finish the whole thing in one morning, but I would pick out the best bits and savour the rest over the next few days. There was always so much to read - great book reviews, interesting news stories, travel articles, opinions, letters to the Editor, that great little nature column..... the list goes on - a veritable feast.
Now I get my Guardian fix every day via the online version. I have ceased to be irritated that the US version is the default page on view and that I have to click on the icon to get the UK version. After all, I live here now and should be keeping up with news on this side of the Atlantic before finding out about the latest political nightmare unfolding back home. I try not to get sucked in to the Comment Is Free section - I should champion free speech and not feel as though some people would be best keeping their comments to themselves.
I often take a look at the property galleries - Snooping Around and Trading up, Trading down - to see where I could be living if I was back in the home country. I am a sucker for the country cottages with huge gardens that I imagine are on the edge of an idyllic village, complete with steepled church, country pub and cricket green. But in reality, I know the UK is not the green and pleasant land of song, and that my memories are viewed through those pastel shaded filters that block out the Daily Mail rantings and societal inequities.