Ah, country life! Nothing beats it. The tapping of the woodpecker in the early morning, the lowing of the cows, the sweet tang of silage in the air, the murmur of the solicitors as they set off on their daily commute to London, the amusement to be gained from mocking ignorant local rustic types … these simple pleasures are what life is all about.
On my quest for inner knowledge and the deeper contents of my navel, I am reminded this week that coming back to where you start from can be more than simply a circular journey. Because, you see, the old place might be the same, but you have changed. This is a profound truth and not at all a vacuous platitude, oh no.
You see, it’s all about Quality of Life. And what could be higher quality than a country retreat to a sixteenth century manor, complete with inglenook fireplace and tame ducklings, which one day will grow up to be deliciously plump ducks, ready for the pot? Nothing, that’s what. Unless, that is, your mum lives there and so you get her home-cooked food every day. Then it’s even better.
I’m a year into this quest now. Still going. Perhaps I’ll take suggestions on where to head next. Any ideas, anyone?