on England's pleasant pastures seen

I always get a little rush of happiness when I look down, between the clouds, and spy my first glimpse of England's patchwork.  All those oddly shaped little green pieces (fields), some with white bits (sheep) and some with brown bits (cows) divided by wiggly, darker green lines (hedgerows).  The country's contribution to the economics of scale.  It is a green, and it is a pleasant land.

And I also get a little rush of appreciation for Mr. B, who always meets us at the right place at the right time, takes our bags and leads us to his car to drive our jet lagged selves the 2 hours or so that we usually take to get to my in-laws' house.  He is one of those perfect English gentlemeen who must or choose to work in their retiremeent at something they enjoy and are well equipped to do, in his case a personal taxi service.  He has travelled through the UK and Europe, he is interested in politics and societal issues, he is well informed and, best of all, he is curious. 

The two hours fly by in a conversation about France, and wine, and the current state of Europe, and his daughters' lives, and the best restaurants in Britain, and football, and medieval history.   And suddenly we are there, invited with smiles into the house a cup of tea speedily prepared and we are here.  The trip has begun.