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Women and sacrifice; an age old sentiment that has resonated since the beginning of time. Today we are fortunate enough to be living in the days after women's emancipation yet still women are sacrificing, particularly for the benefit of men.

I believe I have made the ultimate sacrifice for my husband. We met two years ago in the depths of Sierra Leone, Africa. He was an American soldier, deployed there for six moths and I a British Flight Attendant who took regular four day trips to this beautiful but ravaged region of that continent. We bonded over copious amounts of alcohol, un-spoilt, white sandy beaches and raw nightlife- beach hut outdoor bars with pumping reggae music. Didn't take long to fall in love amongst these magical surroundings. I would take as many trips to see him as I could manage and before long we were discussing our future. He was based in Germany and was obviously committed to the Army so I would have to make the sacrifice if we were to be ultimately together.

I loved this man but I also loved my job. Finally, after years of nomadic wanderings in my career journey I had found my vocation and I was loathe to surrender it. After all, we women are always told never to give anything up for a guy; least of all your independence.

Then, of course, there was my family and friends. I knew if I immigrated I would never again live in the same country as my loved-ones. No more late morning cups of tea and chats with my mum, no more shopping trips with my sisters or naughty afternoon pub visits with dad. I could no longer enjoy frequent nights out with my girlfriends and think of the events I would have to miss? Family trips to France, birthdays; what if my dad got ill again and I couldn't make it back in time?- could I ever forgive myself for distancing myself so far away? Would they think I didn't love them as much as I do?

And what of my beloved homeland; England? How would I cope without my daily dose of soap operas? Eastenders, that British institution that is the magnificent Coronation Street, traditional Sunday lunches, fish and chips along Brighton pier, walks in the Yorkshire Moors, the thrill of London day trips and West End shows, my favorite clothes shops and Pg Tips tea. All the little things that combine to make Britain Britain would be no more to me. I would have to leave, probably never to return. The prospect broke my heart, for I was a thoroughbred English girl if ever there was one, in fact

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