…. but we look at the view a lot.
The next fortnight should have been a blur of activity. We had just made The Big Move, the move that very many middle class, middle aged people plan to make, and some actually achieve. We had uprooted the whole family from their nice comfy house near parks and friends and schools and moved them to somewhere east of a town known only for a couple of famous offspring, and dumped them. I was born and bred in London and had Starbucks in my veins: my two real concerns on moving were that my children wouldn’t know how to eat in restaurants and that decent lattes didn’t happen north of Watford. The entire contents of our not small W12 house were dumped in the farm office (accessible only from the outside) and we knew we had to get ourselves Straight and Sorted before Eeyore went back to work in two weeks. So on day one he and I spent forty minutes before breakfast sitting on the edge of our bed, looking at the view. After breakfast we moved to the front lawn and carried on (same view, lower down). The children stood on the grass and looked at each other and didn’t quite know what to do with so much of it – dog poo bins and asphalt playgrounds more their thing to date.
Mercifully an architect, a designer and a builder turned up in the early afternoon, so the first day wasn’t entirely wasted. But a pattern had been established, and we continued to explore and gaze, rather than do much. Eeyore and No1 spent an inordinate amount of time in the billiard room; No2 preferred the bike shed. Both were fashioned from old loose boxes and stables, and a hayrack high enough for Shires was a source of endless fascination for a three year old with a lifelong thing about elephants.