My mother used to go out on her own, and I used to have to keep a look out for my stepfather coming home.

As a little girl I used to daydream about my real father coming on a white horse to rescue me.

The thrill of coming home has never changed.

There's just no place like Scotland when the sun is out. I just love coming home.

Home was truly the best place he could possibly be, but, alas, was not an available option.

The feeling of coming home has never changed. If anything the sweet and sour balance is now inclining more towards the latter...