I'm British. Cornish, in fact, from the beautiful county in the South-West of England, bordered by the Celtic sea. The land of quiet, stay-homey folks eating clotted cream and walking barefoot through the sandy shoreline. And here I am in Arkansas. Arkansas. I a year before I lived here, I didn't even know where Arkansas was . I distinctly remember searching Google for Arkansaw, and wondering what was up with this A-Kansas place. I've been here six years - long enough to feel at home, little enough to still be a newcomer. In that space of time, I've managed to fill a whole hillbilly bucket list I never knew I had. Those little questionaires that do the rounds on Facebook? The ones where you score yourself based on how many of the above-mentioned crazy activities you've done? I get a pretty high score, for a newcomer. I've milked a goat (four goats, for about a year, actually). I've milked a cow. And yes, I've made butter in a Mason jar. I...