Here's a snippet from the brilliant Bill Bryson's book 'Notes from a small island'. This might make you more homesick - or might remind you of what you're missing:
The British are so easy to please. It is the most extraordinary thing. They actually like their pleasures small. That is why, I suppose, so many of their treats - teackes, scones, crumpets, rock cakes, rich tea biscuits, fruit shrewsburys - are so cautiously flavourful. They are the only people in the wrld who think of jam and currants as thrilling constituents of a pudding or cake. Offer them something genuinely tempting - a slice of gateau or a choice of chocolates from a box - and they will nearly always hesitate and begin to worry that it's unwarranted and excessive, as if any pleasure beyond a very modest threshold is vaguely unseemly.
'Oh, I shouldn't really,' they say.
'Oh go on,' you prod encouragingly.
'Well, just a small one then,' they say and dartingly take a small one, and then get a look as if they have just done something terribly devilish.
I used to be puzzled by the curious British attitude to pleasure, and that tireless, dogged optimism of theirs that allowed them to attach an upbeat turn of phrase to the direst inadequacies - 'well, it makes a change', 'mustn't grumble', 'you could do worse', 'it's not much, but it's cheap and cheerful', 'it was quite nice really' - but gradually I came round to their way of thinking and my life has never been happier.
I remember finding myself sitting in damp clothes in a cold cafe on a dreary seaside promenade and being presented with a cup of tea and a teacake and going 'Ooh lovely!' and I knew then that the process had started.
And that to me somes up what it's like to live here.