I was at a hen do in summer surrounded by women who had moved from London to Devon. They bemoaned the smog of London, the rude and uncaring people, the noise, the relentlessness of it. Me and my London dwelling friend could kind of see their point, but when we stepped off the train onto an oppressively crowded platform and were immediately huffed at for pausing to sort out our bags and thus delaying a commuter’s journey by two seconds, we shared a contented smile and relieved sigh. We were just where we wanted to be.
My Devonshire friend claims that I hate trees. That’s not the case at all – I will appreciate a beautiful landscape of green rolling hills and fluffy sheep like the best of them – I just start to fidget after a minute or so and wonder how much longer I should stand there.