In the small hours of Sunday morn, silence decends upon this green and pleasant land, as water from its rain filled streams meander their way though town, village and field all is well.
Britian is such a strange place, half country, half city, divided by latitude, united by football, protests are lead by half naked women on horseback, revolutions thwarted by drizzel and the need for Tea, where the leader of the house of commons sits on a wool sack, where ideas are formed in sheds, where you can travel to a different country without a passport, where three countries take the micky out of each other and yet will fight together and where the language sometimes contradicts its own defining rules.
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