Me m'appelez plus jamais France...

There's no place like home.
At home, people laugh about the crapy food they have in their plates and add a wee bit of Worcester sauce on their burnt/greasy/cold chips to help them go down the throat. Food is actually NOT a god.
At home, people drink too much and are aware of it. Well, sometimes. Well, okay, maybe not. But at least they don't pretend that lagger isn't alcohol.
At home, people don't waste energy moaning all day long because they've had to slow down in the morning while trying to rush to the bus stop because a granny 2 steps ahead was walking too slowly. And they don't sigh loudly in an almost touching concerto when a train stops for a few minutes. Well, actually, they don't really moan or sigh, do they ?
At home, it rains almost everyday, and so what ? It doesn't rain all day long !
At home, people know how to unfold their newspaper without invading everybody's space, and it truly is an impressive skill.
At home, people don't kiss the cheeks of people they've never met and with who they don't really fancy having any kind of skin contact. Which is perfectly fair enough. But if they like you, they give you hugs, and that's a hundred times better.
My only problem with home is that it's too far away from some people I'd really love to hug everyday.
Nevertheless, nothing feels better than actually landing at home after a WE in France...