I had the most horrible dream last night. I was in an aeroplane and I could see the New York skyline – but from entirely the wrong angle. We were far too close to the ground and the pilot kept apologising, saying that he had never been taught how to land. Then we were flying through the streets and people were hurtling out of the way, screaming and crying. With a sickening jolt, the plane lurched to one side and I just knew I was going to die.

I woke up shaking, it had been so real. It was still early, still dark and Aidan was fast asleep. I didn’t want to wake him by turning on the light so I got up quietly and came down to sit in the kitchen. It’s gloomy as hell, even with all the lights on. Horrible vinyl flooring that has been chewed by generations of collies by the looks of it. The kitchen units are ancient, but not in a good way, more of a 1970s beige and fake oak way. The tiles are sort of biscuit coloured, with truly disgusting, badly drawn dormice and songbirds etched in cream. Foul. There’s a fluorescent strip light running down the middle which gives me a headache. The only good thing is the Aga, a lovely deep green but sadly scratched and rather grubby. I must clean it properly. I had about four cups of coffee (very strong) to get my nerves jangling pleasantly, sitting at the scrubbed deal kitchen table. The table is actually very nice.
For all that Aidan thinks he’s the great countryman, I know he won’t stir for hours so, as the light came up, I pulled on my Barbour (God how I hoped I’d never see one of those again!) and wellies (ditto) and went for a walk. Reading back my blog yesterday, and all your lovely comments (thank you – really not necessary) I sort of gave myself a slap. I really must make more of an effort. It’s not so much that I hate country living but that I loved city living so much. I think if we’d moved within kicking distance of some nice city or town it would have been OK. But here we are really buried.

I don’t even drive! Well, I do (like every farm-raised child I can drive a quad, reverse a Landrover and even manoeuvre a tractor) but I’ve never taken my license so don’t have a car (no need in London, home of buses, tubes, trains, taxis). There’s a bus that passes our lane once a day – but it goes to a horrible little no-hope excuse of a town full of down-at-heel charity shops (think unwashed clothes and chipped petrol station glasses) so really, what’s the point?
It was overcast but the sky was gunmetal blue and rather dramatic as I headed down the path to the river. Blackbirds were scuttling around in the undergrowth like burglars. But I found what I was hoping for – a sprinkling of primroses studding the bank with their pale brave faces. I love primroses. As children we would gather them into posies for mother’s day, hoping to win a rare smile.
If I’m going to stay here, I will need a dog. I don’t believe in walking for walking’s sake – I’m a bit driven. But a dog gives an excuse for walking, a meaning to it. And it would make me go out, make the effort.
So when I got back, I put on the kettle again and while I was cooking breakfast for Aidan, I started making another list (I love lists, and I love doing two things at once!). My list is getting longer by the day.
So now it reads (edited highlights):
· Sort out kitchen.
· Clean flagstones in hall.
· Find window-cleaner (so can see out of windows)
· Get dog
· Find electrician/plumber/builder who will come when they promise and won’t fleece us
· Do something with garden – don’t know what but something
· Get back to London for haircut/see friends (or get back to London full-stop)
· Start writing book.
· Get involved in village life!

I won’t bore you with the rest but this is the gist. The last one is pertinent. I must make an effort and get out and meet people. Maybe they’ll be a nice surprise – the old harridans, gnarly old farmers and drooling halfwits of my childhood will have metamorphosed into chic smart funny women and drop-dead gorgeous men. A lovely little coffee shop will have sprung up overnight, alongside a smart boutique or two and a good bookshop. Oh dream on, Rowan.
Right, better go. Can hear Aidan walking warily up the stairs. Aidan works from his study with the door firmly shut. I (supposedly) work from mine but keep the door open as he always thinks I’m doing something untoward if I shut it (not sure what….Internet porn? Cyber-sex? Shopping? I wish). He wouldn’t get this site at all and so I quickly log off when I hear him coming. Fortunately he can’t sneak up on me unawares as the staircase is so ancient and doddery you have to take it very cautiously for fear of falling right through. It announces every tread with a deep groan. Anyhow, thank you again for listening. I think you’re doing me good!

PS. I hope you don’t mind but I have changed names in this. I have always seen myself as a Rowan somehow….and surely in cyberspace, you can be who you want? What a lovely thought.