Every journey holds memories. Every trip we do cements itself in our hearts and minds. Every place becomes an emotion. I’ve sat at the foot of the Sphinx, and taken a camel ride around the pyramids. I’ve done a horse ride through the Sahara, stood at the top of Niagara Falls, looked at Jupiter in the Sinai desert, and sailed on a super yacht in Monte Carlo. I’ve been to a lost Roman amphitheatre in Turkey, seen the Colosseum and the Vatican in Rome, been in the Piazza San Marco when it flooded, and looked down from the leaning tower in Pisa. I’ve cruised the Mediterranean, lunched overlooking the Duomo de Firenze in Florence, marvelled at the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, stared in awe at the white horses in Camargue, and shed a tear in Van Gogh’s asylum in Provence. I’ve been to incredible places in Bermuda, Kuwait, Ireland, Florida, Africa, Denmark, Holland, Spain, France, Italy, the USA, and Canada. But nowhere, nowhere has captured my heart like the British Isles. Nowhere takes my breath away more than the English Lake District, or humbles me like the Scottish Highlands. To walk in the Yorkshire Dales or the Cotswolds on a beautiful summer’s day is simply perfect. Nothing can beat standing in York Minster or Durham Cathedral, walking along Hadrians Wall, or visiting the ancient stones of Stonehenge. The White Cliffs of Dover, London Bridge, the British Library, the British Museum, the Tate, there’s so much to see in these green and pleasant lands. I’m perfectly happy to holiday at home.