Can a cottage in the country break your heart ?
It feels that way right now. Thirty-one years ago we bought our slice of heaven. A 17th-century thatched Northamptonshire cottage at the foot of a hill, on the edge of an ancient forest. We were newly married and smitten with our life in the country; a long-held dream of mine since I was a child. Sundays were taken up with long walks in the forest followed by a pint in the next-door pub. We furnished it simply but beautifully, adding a few antiques and the odd stuffed owl when funds permitted. Then along came children and they learned how to appreciate the English countryside with their own version of the road safety code whilst looking right and left "No moo cows no horsies". Seasons came and went, Easter egg hunts in the garden, harvest suppers in the village hall, the annual Summer Village show where the boys would show off their vegetable animals, and egg-cup flower arrangements. Flowers and foliage for the church would be gathered from the hedgerows and of course our Chr