After pulling out of my flat sale and U-turning on the idea of moving to the Cotswolds, it took me a while to realise why.
But there is a reason I can never seem to find what I’m looking for. No matter where I go to house-hunt for the cottage of my dreams, nothing is ever right, be it in Cobham or further along the A3 or, giving up on the south east altogether, in the Cotswolds. And the reason is not that I am a hopeless flake.
The reason is that I have not really been looking for a place in Cobham, or Ripley, or ‘down the Hog’s Back’, as tempting as that may sound, or, more exotically, in a village on the Surrey-Hampshire borders, or even in Cameron Country just outside Chipping Norton.
No. I realise now I have not been looking for a place in a place. I have been looking for a place in a time.
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