‘Cydney, we are not moving to Cobham!’ I told the spaniel in my best outraged Margot Leadbetter voice.
What a sad moment. All my adult life I have worshipped Cobham as a haven of everything good and right and well-functioning in the world. A place of old-fashioned values and comforting, staid right-wingery. A place of millionaires and lottery winners. A place where the streets are paved in Chelsea footballers, slightly drunk after a night out at the local steakhouse.
I have loved Cobham with all my heart, having one foot in it, by stabling my horses there, and one foot back in Balham, south London, where I live.
Recently, I moved the horses to Dorking but I was only there a few months when I realised my mistake. Dorking is not like Cobham. Dorking is all very well, if you like that sort of thing, but to my mind, there are way too many hills.
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