A few days in Devon and we’re suffering from temporary amnesia. We’ve forgotten that we live in the suburban sprawl that is west London and in our minds we’re totally living the rural dream.
Our thatched cottage is situated along a quaint country lane flanked by trees, with generous bunches of daffodils lining the verges. We’re keeping chickens which are free to roam and we’re dining on freshly laid eggs every day. We have a huge garden and the possibilities are endless. We even have a goat or two for good measure. And the sun always shines in our rural dream.
Oh, but hang on a minute. Could we live without a 24-hour Tesco just round the corner for those days when we’re a teeny bit disorganised? And we do quite like being a 20 minute tube journey from the centre of London for when we’re in the mood for a bit of culture or retail therapy. And to be frank, the countryside can sometimes be a little bit smelly.
But the good news is that it’s not temporary amnesia we’re suffering from. Oh no. There is a name for our condition and we’re not alone. We are officially rurbanites:
Rurbanite. n. Someone with a passion for the countryside but a reluctance to leave the city anytime soon.
Safe in this knowledge we can indulge the rural dream for a few more days before returning home to the metropolis.