Country Living

It sounds exotic and it is for millions of people around the world. There are those who make it a permanent lifestyle and there are those who choose to experience it on weekends in the form of camping. Either way country living is becoming more and more popular.

Clearly the exodus from our cities to a rural idyll seems to be more popular than ever. People even endure six or more hours of commuting, just to enjoy country living. What does country living mean to you? Roses round the cottage door? Rustic types popping round with home reared honey and eggs? Above all, you would expect a bit of peace and quiet, wouldn't you?

Many years ago, my husband and I moved from the city to a small village near the East coast of England. Inclement weather could still have an impact, as winter power cuts were quite common. One year, a Royal Air Force helicopter had to drop supplies onto the village green.

It was not long after we came to realize that it was actually easier to go for long walks around a city than it was from country living. We were surrounded by farmer's land and there wasn't much public access. When there was, you had to keep your dog on a lead.

Beleive it or not peace and quiet was the last thing we got. It was soon apparent that the local fly boys liked to terrify the life out of us by skimming over our chimney in their fighter jets, making a noise which made your windows rattle. That's if the cockerel or bird song didn't wake us first or the merry church bells ringing at eight in the morning.

As for neighbors, the small community seemed to attract eccentrics in disproportion to the population. Country living is a breeding ground for them. Elizabeth was a pensioner who lived alone, and liked to dress up like a femme fatale from the French Resistance, complete with caked on stage make up and a beret worn at a jaunty angle. Her favorite hobby was going to people's funerals, regardless of whether she had known them or not. This was an opportunity to really dress up.

There was also the hooting of the owls, the roar of the motorbikes and the shouts of the returning revelers from the village pub at chucking out time. Just to ice the cake on our country living, there was a pig farm in the center of the village, which was fine unless you were down wind.

Then there was Mark and Beatrice who were ardent vegetarians but lived on a diet of veggie burgers and chips. The joys of country living were lost on them. If Beatrice couldn't be bothered scrubbing, which was often the case, she would throw a saucepan in the bin and simply buy a new one.

Beatrice would pack her bags once a fortnight and leave Mark. You could set your watch by it. She always returned to burn more saucepans.

Not to mention there was a wood pigeon, which had taken a shine to all our gardens, eating up everyone's seedlings in the process. Mark kindly volunteered to remedy this. Not by shooting it, they were vegetarians after all, but by driving it far away and releasing it.

He didn't drive far enough. It kept coming back. He took it further and further away. Three times. Finally, the fourth trip was successful, just when we thought we'd have to put it on the train to Inverness.

Of course you weren't considered a proper villager until you had three generations in the graveyard but in fact, the incomers actually contributed to the life of the village more than most. Beautiful peaceful countryside, full of people living in harmony, enjoying nature's bounty? Forget it. It was too much stress for us. We left our experiment in country living to go back to the city for some peace and quiet.

This is not to dissuade you millions who love country living. I think I will settle for a few weekend camping trips where the noise is hopefully regulated.