A small cay near the British Virgin Islands, pastel drawing by me

It is a grey (or the American version– gray) December day, and this is often when our thoughts return to those warm days we spent on the British Virgin Islands. Several of My Beloved Brit’s English mates have been chatting with him this week (on Skype, of course) about heading to warm places for a few weeks to beat the winter chill of England. I know it brings back memories for him of his years on Tortola, and sailing into the sunsets…or getting ready to race across the seas.

MBB getting ready for a race on the British Virgin Islands in past glory

The shores of England have a totally different feel, I know.  But they have always had their own special appeal to me.

"By The Cornish Sea", pastel by me

I often think I would like to spend some real time in England getting to know that country on an intimate basis.  My Beloved Brit, on the other hand, grew up there, and although he misses it terribly (especially his family and his mates) he fondly calls it the “grey country” and hesitates to think of moving back to those cold wet days and early dark nights of a very long winter season.

It amuses me sometimes how much climate dictates our decisions about where we move. Of course being the gypsies that we are, there is always another shore to explore, but MBB prefers it to be a warm one. England? Chances are slim for a more permanent move to those misty shores, but at least we get a chance to visit during the lovely summer months.