Our house once went viral as “Cotswold house porn”. Someone had photographed it from the road, and the picture found its way onto an American website of the Homes & Gardens variety. This was flattering, if geographically ambitious; we don’t actually live in the Cotswolds.
We do live in a beautiful village, though, and we get plenty of visitors coming to admire it. I understand the appeal. But a photograph taken from the road gives you a rather different perspective from the one you have when you’re looking out through a draughty window, wondering whether the damp patch needs attention again.
There are a few differences between coming here for the afternoon and being responsible for clearing the gutters. Here are some of them.
Visiting: “Look at that beautiful old cottage.”
Living: “That damp patch is back.”
Visiting: “What a beautiful thatched roof.”
Living: “Think of the insurance.”
Visiting: “What a lovely winding lane.”
Living: “Please let the other driver be better at reversing than I am.”
Visiting: “Those old windows are full of character.”
Living: “You can feel the character coming through them when the wind gets up.”
Visiting: “How wonderful to be surrounded by farmland.”
Living: “Probably best to bring the washing in.”
Visiting: “Look! Sheep!”
Living: “There goes any chance of being on time.”
Visiting: “What a magnificent tractor.”
Living: “I have now had quite a long time to admire it.”
Visiting: “We should go for a really long walk.”
Living: “Which pub are we finishing at?”
Visiting: “It must be lovely having all these footpaths on your doorstep.”
Living: “Those boots are not coming into the kitchen.”
Visiting: “I’d love a house covered in climbing roses.”
Living: “Does anyone know someone with a very long ladder?”
Visiting: “How lovely to hear the birds in the morning.”
Living: “It’s four o’clock.”
Visiting: “It’s so dark at night. You can see all the stars.”
Living: “Where’s the torch?”
Visiting: “What a charming little village shop.”
Living: “It only exists because volunteers keep it going.”
Visiting: “It must be wonderful having a proper village community.”
Living: “Mark has just joined another committee.”
Visiting: “You must spend every weekend exploring.”
Living: “We need to go to the supermarket.”
Visiting: “I could sit and look at that view all day.”
Living: “I really should look at that view more often.”
That last one is probably the observation I need most. It is surprisingly easy to drive through lovely countryside thinking about a meeting, the shopping or whether you remembered to put the bins out. People travel miles to see places that we pass without giving them much thought.
And the volunteers keeping the shop open deserve rather more than a passing mention. Much of what makes village life attractive depends on people taking a turn, organising an event, opening a hall or agreeing to serve on that committee. Visitors quite reasonably see the result; living here gives you a better appreciation of the work involved.
So yes, there is mud, reversing and the occasional prolonged acquaintance with the back of a tractor. There is also the pleasure of having all this close to home, through every season and in every sort of weather. I wouldn’t swap it, although I might feel differently about the gutters.
