Weekend in the Country

Happy Tuesday. How has your week been so far? Last week, I was struggling with a really bad cold. I felt pooped by the time the weekend rolled around and we were off to Leicestershire to attend a garden party but all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball in my bed back in London and sleep, sleep, sleep.

Fortunately, the sun was shining at John's childhood home and I fell asleep there in the grass for the rest of the afternoon while the backs of my legs got a slight hint of color (thankfully brown, not red!).

That morning, John and I had viewed a house we'll never get in London, and we spent the afternoon talking about house prices with his dad, who suggested we move to Market Harborough, where we could probably afford a small mansion and commute into London. Lying there in the grass? I definitely considered it.

I mean, there's this:

(Yes, that really happened - I took that photo on a bus just a few weeks ago when I was on my way to orchestra rehearsal in St. John's Wood)

And then, there's this:

Which one would you choose? I'm not sure I could ever give up the city life. My dream would be to have a London flat we "survived in" during the week (in Maida Vale, if we're dreaming) and a big, gorgeous weekend house in the country we'd get to by jumping into a car on Friday nights straight after work. I don't mind where. Leicestershire is plenty nice enough for me.

After wiping the drool off my cheek that afternoon, we got dressed and zoomed through miles and miles of beautiful countryside to attend our friend's family garden party, which was more like a fancy sit-down dinner in their huge field of a backyard (literally, a field) with balefuls of hay and a fire pit. We talked to our friend's mom, who lives in Denmark, and she remarked how much she loved the English countryside, and how there's no other landscape like it.

We totally agreed.