We have just returned from an impromptu few days escape to Somerset. To say it is 45mins away across the border, it feels like another era. Our sleepy sanctuary, the OH’s parents country abode, is in the village of Montacute – it couldn’t be any more British if it tried.
There was a bit of napping, a lot of Sunday supplement reading and a whole heap of sitting under the trees trying to stop the over-exuberant labrador slobbering Country Bebe to death.
Even now, living by the sea in Devon, a weekend here feels like the ultimate escape. Even CB seems more relaxed, sleeping 13 hours a night and being loved-to-death by his doting grandparents.
On Sunday, with a full roast lunch on the horizon, I ventured out in my pyjamas to the petrol station (the only option on a Sunday) for a stack of reading material and was thrilled to see the village had been bedecked in bunting, ready for the Jubilee.