There are, of course, many things about home that I miss when away from home, and it is only on returning after a bit of a jetset break that I realise how much I take these things for granted.
Yes, there is obviously the whole family thing. Those who are most beloved, have nurtured me, and provided me with a lasting formative experience that will serve me well throughout my life. Then there is the fact that the fridge and pantry are stocked by those little fairies that work so hard out of sight, and who also do the washing, ironing and cooking. They are indispensible creatures. And of course there are the many cafetieres at my disposal.
But what I am really referring to, the thing that is best about home, the thing I most take for granted and will sorely miss on leaving, is being able to eat a big bowl of pickled gerkins whilst in pyjama bottoms, crunching noisily and slopping pickle juice down me in front of Loose Women, and not even having to worry about the smell or the state of my breath.
That is what home is. Home is where the gerkin is.