Town Vs Country

I’ve spent the last two weeks hopping around the hills and seaside towns of the English countryside – but could I consider moving out of town?

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I was once told by a very wise man in the upper echelons that you only move to the countryside once you’ve made it and have enough money not to worry.

“You never go to the country when you’re fighting to make it happen – otherwise it doesn’t work,” they told me.

This comment has always sat with me and felt like a rule to countryside living.

I’m exceedingly lucky where I live. I’m on the outskirts of south west London on a small-ish High Street that has everything I could possibly need. I’m nestled on a large park that has deer, the birds are wonderfully loud and to be honest I feel like I’m in the countryside without actually being in the countryside. You could describe my little nest as having the best of both worlds.

It's calm. There aren’t youngsters having loud flat parties like when I was renting in Kensal. I shop for each day food wise. I’ve got a good butcher. A heavenly bakery. There’s even a medium-sized Waitrose if I’m feeling posh and need something for a nice dinner. I can get Deliveroo if I desire but if not, I have lots of great restaurants on my doorstep. It ticks every box.

I’m just a 50-minute commute to the centre of London when I need to be in. Which is becoming less and less. It’s quite literally the dream location and I feel so lucky to have made it onto the property ladder when I did and being able to afford my flat. I couldn’t have done it if I hadn’t bought my first flat with a secondary school friend. We both lucked out in life because of that decision.

But these days I’m getting a slight itch about where I live on the outskirts. When I get back to London from Ibiza, I have to reintroduce myself into London life increasingly more delicately. It feels like a lot mentally.

When I’m on the White Isle I can go a week without seeing anyone socially. Just quietly working at home and pottering. The streets and roads aren’t heaving. Aside from tourists I don’t see huge crowds of people. Comparing it to say, walking down Oxford Street you couldn’t compare the two.

This time round, on my return after my springtime in Ibiza, my flat was rented out for a couple of weeks extra on AirBNB, so I needed to work out where to stay for just over two weeks before I properly returned home. I embarked on a countryside tour staying with friends at gorgeous locations in Gloucestershire and Dorset.

Maybe the countryside would inspire me about the future? It’s not that I have some huge desire to live outside of London. But the older I’m getting the more I’m interested to explore being somewhere quieter, more spacious, greener and with a less angry vibe. After all, London can be a lot.

Now, there are huge benefits to being in the countryside – the air is cleaner and cooler, the green fields feed your soul on your walks, people say hello to you all the time, it’s heaven to walk a dog, local produce and food is super fresh and tasty (and hopefully from nearby/not imported) and there’s so much more space.

I stop at the local estate agents in both locations. Holy shit, I could have a two-bedroom cottage and live practically mortgage free here if I sold my flat in London. AND I’d have a garden. How cool would that be? No mortgage coming out my account each month. That would be joyous. In fact, the price of my London flat equates to a three-bed cottage in the countryside in Dorset. Sure, it’s in Dorset which is miles away from town and a ball ache to drive BUT could that be an option one day? Maybe.

I love the fact the local shop owners, post office workers and coffee shop folk love to chat to you. Maybe they’re bored, but maybe they’re just nice people and they’re genuinely just polite, friendly and unassuming. Either that or they’re just gagging for town gossip – which is quite possible. Maybe the chat would wear off if I was here.

Now, let’s look at the downsides of cuntry life?

There’s something a little Worzel Gummidge about the people who live in the countryside. Not that they’re all made of straw and borderline paedophilic looking, but they seem to have questionable clothing choices, wild teeth and occasionally there’s a question of inbreeding. I went to the local Co-op just now before teatime. A couple who genuinely looked like brother and sister - but I’m pretty sure were boyfriend and girlfriend – were in the line. She was wearing batty riders, and he was sprouting hair from every orifice. I genuinely believe if a man can’t look after the hair that’s on display in public, then whatever’s lurking under his clothing must be truly frightful. Anyway, I digress. They were buying cider, loads of junk food and baked goods. I mean, who buys baked goods from the supermarket at 6pm? You know said baked goods have been sat there all day absorbing all the monstrosities of the day and being breathed upon by all manner of human being. It’s a firm no from me. Baked goods should only be consumed when they’re still warm before the hour of 9am. I just had so many questions gawping at this couple. Too many to write down.

Then with the local pubs, the people who turn out for drinks midweek are extraordinary. There are the local elder workmen who knock back five dirty ol’ pints of cloudy cider until they’re swaying on their bar stool and drooling. They definitely will be driving home too – what’s the rule in the country? Five and drive? Scary.

Then we have the youngsters who are living in a town of slim pickings when it comes to being able to pull. You can tell they’ve all practiced their fingering skills with each other over the years, and they’re potentially being starved of widening the gene pool staying in the cuntry.

And I guess one other personal big minus is the fact these country towns aren’t exactly dripping with eligible bachelors for a mid-forties gay man. Would I just be committing myself to a lonely old life without a significant other? Would that be a bad thing? Who knows. On the plus side, I could finally get a dog and fully commit to a life as a single Dogfather. Imagine the amazing walks and the country nights by the fire. That would be awesome.

One other thing to consider is living in the countryside and not being a millionaire or from posh descent. Parts of the posh world is properly ghastly and snobby. Obviously, there are some lovely pals I’ve made in that world. And it’s lush to pop round for dinner at Lord So-in-so’s gaff. But would that start to grate if you came home to your little cottage after seeing the palatial style and finesse that’s thriving nearby? Possibly.

I have one firm rule in the posho stratosphere…it’s fine if they’re rich or descending from a famous family but they have to have a zest for life and a really strong work ethic for me to become firm friends with them. There are very few of my mates from that world who aren’t either building a career for themselves or keeping very busy with their jobs. I’m a grafter and I get on best with grafters.

For now, I think I’ve answered my own question. I’ve got the best of both worlds right now with where I live. But who knows what the future holds? I may well end up tending to a garden, having an allotment and enjoying the quieter side of life. Roaring fires, light red wines, record players and keeping a lawn nice and healthy.

It does sound appealing for one day in the not-so-distant future. Until then, country visits will more than suffice.

Have you dreamt about your countryside living? Have you made it a reality? Tell me more below!

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