My passport says my home town is Bristol but I don't know the city at all; we moved to the North East then I was about 6 months old and lived in a village called Howden Le Wear, which I'd struggle to find on a map now, although I'm told we had snowdrifts to the upstairs windowsills and floods.
We then moved to a village called Wingate, near Hartlepool, where I remember a big gloomy house with a massive stairwell, no heating, and coal fires. From the attic we could hear a lighthouse foghorn on misty nights, and during the day I remember a bulldozer scraping the top off the slag heap behind the houses opposite, and the coal men delivering coal on a lorry that weighed the bags before they carried them to the coal chute. There was no Kindergarten but fortunately my mum was a kindergarten teacher and incredibly creative when it came to activities with cornflake packets and storytelling with wooden spoons.
A few years later we went to the opposite extreme; Knutsford, just south of Manchester, where the used car dealership sold E-type Jaguars and half the shops were fancy wine bars.
I visited since a few times and it feels very odd; like a colony of south West England, full of big cars and houses with tall hedges and cast iron gates.
I gained a southern accent in Knutsford. This didn't help much when we moved to the West Midlands where I gained my GCSE's and a loathing of team sports, especially football. I left that school on my last day without a goodbye or a look back, and never returned. I still remember the sound the door made when it closed behind me for the final time.
On the other hand I had my first German lessons there which was probably the most important subject I had, so I probably shouldn't complain too much.
I suspect I now feel the same way about the UK as many feel about their home town because I see lots of changes in the whole country, not just a small area.