It only hurts

While chatting with a friend about an english soap opera, I was hit with such a pang of nostalgia:

Yorkminster and seeing the chamber choir at mass.
The Monk Pub in London and the rack for 36 shooters.
The Tree Hotel in Oxford and the horrible couch I was asked to sleep on.
Chirk Castle and the barren hallways that spun around the exterior.
The food
The people
The shopping
The history
The stories
The pictures.

And all I can do is tell myself 'just over four more years'.