Moving To The Country. Take Two.
Oh? Tabitha's jaunt to the Country life is still happening?
"She’s moved again", I hear you say?
I know, I never stay put for more than a few months, and I am irritatingly vocal about it: When I am in the City I want to be in the country, and when I am in the country I want to be in the City.
I think my husband deserves a medal for being so bloody tolerant of me.
But finally we have actually moved and bought a house.
The ugliest house you have ever seen, granted. It was built in the 70’s and is the kind of house I would never in a million years have imagined myself living in. So why am I? No idea. Other than the prospect of looking at another house made me want to run for the hills, and I decided it was better to buy a house that no one else wanted to buy so at least we would not get into a bidding war with a housewife with too much time on her hands.
There is a breed that just sits around waiting for people to cop it so they can swiftly move into their Georgian house, do it up and then host weekly book club events so people can admire their Farrow and Ball paint.
So here we are – sitting silently at the end of a private road (NO, it is not a cul de sac…) having swapped the perils of dog poo on the city pavements for insect invasions and stinging nettles.
At the moment the reasoning behind our move seems hard to understand - so hard that I in fact, can’t really remember why we did it.
But I do know that my 4 year old never asks to watch the television any more, and her trampolining skills are now unquestionable.
And the best thing of all?
We have a tennis court…and I have started a daily regime of playing tennis with a machine.
In fact as I sit surrounded by neo Georgian mansions in a part of Surrey I didn’t know existed, I am starting to feel a little bit like Crystal Carrington…