People sometimes ask me a simple question: which place do you prefer — Italy or England?
The answer once seemed obvious. Italy, of course.
In earlier times Italy meant holidays. England meant work.
Italy meant freedom — long lunches, warm evenings, the sea, the mountains, skiing in winter, the easy pleasures of food and wine. It was the place we escaped to, the place where responsibility dissolved and life slowed down.
England was home, certainly, but Italy was the dream.
But something curious happened when I retired and began spending much more time in Italy. The balance quietly shifted.
Italy gradually became ordinary life — dealing with the house, arranging practicalities, sorting things out. England, meanwhile, began to look different. Our visits there slowly turned into something rather like holidays.
Now when we return to England, we plan the trips almost the way we once planned trips to Italy.
We go to London, of course, but not only London. We also make pilgrimages to those wonderfully characteristic English cathedral cities, set in their green landscapes and ancient streets.
In the past few years we have visited several.
Peterborough — a magnificent cathedral rising unexpectedly out of the flat countryside, with one of the most extraordinary Gothic façades anywhere in England.
Salisbury — the perfect cathedral close, straight out of a painting by John Constable.

Winchester — ancient royal capital of England, resting place of Jane Austen, and one of the most charming towns imaginable.
These journeys have become small celebrations of England.
And this year there is a special reason to return: Easter in England, something I have not experienced for years.
That means one particular tradition must be revived attending a Bach Passion at St George’s Hanover Square, the church where my dad was baptised. We used to go whenever we could when we lived full-time in England. Sometimes the St Matthew Passion, sometimes the St John Passion.

The St Matthew is the grander work, certainly. But I confess I have a particular affection for the St John Passion. It is shorter, sharper, and its opening chorus is simply electrifying — one of the most thrilling beginnings in all Bach.
But that is not the only pleasure awaiting us.
There will also be the “Silver Pharaohs” exhibition at Battersea Power Station — a dazzling glimpse into ancient Egypt that sold out quickly, though I managed to secure tickets.
And no visit to London feels complete without opera or ballet at Covent Garden. This time it will be Mayerling, the dark and tragic story of the Austrian crown prince and his heart throb — a ballet we have seen before and will gladly see again.

We have even arranged something rather unusual: a visit to the Mansion House, the official residence of the Lord Mayor of London.

And somewhere in between all that, we will choose another cathedral city. Perhaps Norwich — though that decision may wait until the last moment.
All of this requires careful planning and booking, because there are still a few practical matters to attend to. But the pleasures are unmistakable.
So the question returns:
Are we escaping from England to Italy — or escaping from Italy to England?
The answer is not entirely straightforward.
Italy still wins in many ways. The climate, the food, the wine, the landscapes — the beaches, mountains, hills and walks — the people are simply magnificent. And life there has become unexpectedly easy. Even services that were once slow or uncertain have improved enormously. The postal service, for example, now works with remarkable efficiency.
Most importantly of all, the Italian health service has treated me with extraordinary care and speed. For that alone I remain deeply grateful.
And socially, too, Italy has become home. We know people there. One can walk into a bar and almost inevitably meet a familiar face.

Yet England has its own charm.
You walk into a pub, knowing nobody — and within minutes you are talking with people as if they were friends. There is a warmth there that still surprises me.

So which country do we prefer?
In truth, we are probably retiring in Italy.
But the curious thing is this: the place we once escaped from has now become the place we sometimes escape to.
And that, perhaps, is the best of both worlds.