I almost forget the city

I adore London, the roaring city streets, the panache-ness, glossy haired richness of Kensington, for instance. I adore the occasional trip to overpriced salons where thirty-somethings parade in designer labels, clutching their blackberry while a uniform of stylists and colourists are circling like vultures and hankering for generous tips. How I adore the thought of travelling lattes and lunch dates with conversation of European trips and long stays in family owned villas. Four years on, I continue to feel slightly tourist-ish, trying to refrain from impulsive photography of landmarks I have seen a dozen times more.

And yet, at the same time, the English countryside captivates my heart and momentarily, I forget the city.

'I cannot justify someone paying that kind of money in London for a glorified port-a-potty,' by this time I am relentlessly clicking my mouse, hovering over websites homing properties selling for prices that I just cannot get my head around.

"Who on earth can afford these properties?" By this time my voice is reaching ultrasonic pitches.

With conversations like these smothering our weekend dinners of red wine and pasta, we may have come to the conclusion that country living and commuting may be our answer. My arm does not have to be twisted, please understand this to be true. When I think of living amongst small villages, quaint enough for a postcard - the idea sounds idyllic.  Compelled to invest in wellies and a large dog for rambling walks is high on my list already and having miles of greenness excites me to no end.  I shall need no convincing. One half hour train ride and we are back in the city. It is ideal.

Tomorrow, we plan to view a two bedroom character property – it could be our very own little thatched roof cottage. Yes, a straw-like roof. It’s incredibly Shakespeare and I am smitten at the idea.

Perhaps I am a country girl at heart. One thing is for sure - since living in England I have learned it is not the size of your home that makes it special.

 

[Pictured above are nearby cottages in our county for your viewing pleasure. The second photo once homed George Orwell from 1936 – 1940, when he was not travelling. He wrote Wigan Pier here and it is said the farm a few yards away is the one he had in mind when writing Animal Farm.]

Comments

[Vegas Princess]

The first one is my dream English countryside house. The type of house I picture when I imagine retiring there some day. Sigh. I think that would be ideal. Living in the country but close enough to get to the city. If we can afford it, that is. :)

[erin]

Yeah, I agree, the first one is my favorite too. How cool would it be if you could call a place like that home?!?

[Traci]

The country does sound romantic. I have to tell you that all of your photos are absolutely beautiful. Love them and it does make England look breathtaking. I am still working with my new SLR, but realize I need a lot more practice! Beautiful blog.

[Liberty]

Oh it does look extremely romantic. And really, a 30 minute communte really is nothing. When you find YOUR house you'll know it. I love my house and can't believe I've actually been here for almost three years. It's nice to have a place to call all your very own.

[Jen]

I have a friend who lives in Weybridge, his mother's house doesn't even have an address, just a name, and the mail gets there, for some reason that amazed me! Maybe your new home will have a name just like that one!

[Lucia]

What wonderful cottages:) My aunty used to have a big thatched cottage like that in Devon, it was the perfect place to spend the summer in the countryside. Good luck with your househunt:)