What they don't tell you...

To celebrate the one year anniversary of my blog, I’ve come up with a list of the things that they just don’t tell you when you embark on a lifestyle shift from the city to the country…

1) You will start taking parenting tips from sheep. Summarised as follows: in the early days feed them as much as they will take and threaten to kill anyone who comes within 100 yards of them. Once they are big enough to frolic alone, keep a close eye on them as they start to explore the rocks and streams (then bleat like bloody hell when one of your offspring ends up in the water trough and has to be rescued – in this case by me). Finally, once they are at the adolescent stage, marauding around in large packs at dusk, secretly hiding bottles of vodka in the hedges and escaping under fences to eat sacred and long-awaited asparagus spears, turn a blind eye and deny all knowledge of their existence. Gina Ford had nothing on these woolly experts I tell you...

2) You will have a bizarre and unprecedented craving for culture. Despite the fact that the only time you have been to the theatre in the past ten years was to watch The Tempest in Russian in Southampton – that was enough cultural brownie points for a lifetime, or so we thought…… Now I find myself avidly reading theatre reviews for shows that I will never go to, ordering the latest novels online to add to my stack of unread books by my bed and seeking out local artist galleries to drag my reluctant husband along to. I blame overdosing on Radio 4 at this time of year whilst head down frantically planting on the veg plot…

3) You will start comparing the size of your husband's polytunnel with your girl friends in the pub. As happened recently out on a hen do. Whereas once we might have been comparing the width and length of something else, now our conversations revolve around the thickness of the plastic, the slidiness of the doors and how hot you can get it inside. With chat like that, who needs a pair of bobbing penii strapped to your head?!

So how big is yours...?

4) You will look forward to going to Sainsbury’s with the same zeal and eagerness that was once reserved for Friday night beers after work. Growing your own and picking up bits and pieces from the local convenience store (oh ok then, I confess, getting the same items delivered week after week in your online shop - *yawn*) cannot compare to the frisson of excitement you get walking down an aisle with over 100 different varieties of teas and coffee, endless bottles of wine extending as far as the eye can see, and every cheese you could possibly imagine. Of course you will be so paralysed by choice that you will leave with a pint of milk, some random reduced-price tropical fruit and a ridiculously overpriced magazine laden with pink plastic tat to pacify the kids (who are also both fit to burst after complete sensory overload).

5) You will take a week off work to shovel shit. Quite literally. No more beach holidays or city breaks for me. Oh no. I have just spent a child-free two days wheel-barrowing five tonnes of cow manure onto our raised beds. And do you know what? I totally loved it. The sun burn, the aching arms, the endless hours of Radio 4 and the vague scent of Clarins Eau de Jardins from the night before mingled with the lingering aroma of rotting cow shit. Just perfect. That is when you know that you are in exactly the right place…

Happy holidays!