Pyle, England

I am an admitted and unapologetic Anglophile. I'm a complete sucker for a British accent. I watch British comedy, and I even understand and get the jokes sometimes. I've fully incorporated the phrase, "Bloody hell," into my vocabulary and I use is whenever I can. I'm even finding that I'm partial to British authors. Maybe it's the extra "u" they put in their words from time to time. I don't know. But there's definitely a connection.

Perhaps I've found that connection, here. It's a town in what I think is Wales called Pyle. Ah, the fertile green fields that gave birth to my ancestors are calling me home, and the place has got my name written all over it in more ways than one. It might not look like much to some, but those rocky shores, emerald fields, and granite skies draw me in. Maybe one day I'll settle down in that lush countryside, tend to a flock of sheep. Or something.

Whatever the connection, I definitely want to visit this place and check out the area, which I really do think is idyllic. I don't know what it is about England in general, but I must go there one day and see what my minor obsession is really all about.