Because it’s home, in a powerful and unequivocal way that Britain, for all its joys and advantages and attractions and excitement, can never be. Even after more than half a decade here, adopting the idioms and the culture and the fashion and the freedoms of a big, first-world country, it’s still a foreign land to me. The people are the wrong colour, their accents are strange, their view of the world comprehensible to me now, but still alien. The land is flat and tame. There are mountains (somewhere), cliffs (I’m told) and gorgeous plains (criss-crossed with neatly-maintained walking paths). But they’re not all lumped together, a big crash course in geography like the land of my birth. . . .

If you read one thing today, make it London-based Trinidadian blogger Seldo‘s heartfelt meditation on the idea of returning to Trinidad. It’s long (1700+ wds), but it reads beautifully, and Seldo asks all the right questions of himself and of his homeland and writes fully and responsibly from the point of view of a white, privileged, gay Caribbean man who is determined to at least contemplate the idea of taking the destiny of his country into his own hands. Thomas Wolfe said you can’t go home again, but according to Seldo, you can.