As I sit down to write my blog today, I’m a bit anxious. You see, we moved on Saturday. But this was no ordinary move. I’ve left the creative centre of the country (and some would argue of the world) and gone to live in a place where shops close on a Sunday and people think Photoshop is where they go to get their holiday snaps developed.
In my imagination, these pictures were, of course, taken with the photographer standing behind a tripod with a black sheet over them, holding a massive archaic flash bulb aloft like that woman from the Columbia TriStar Television logo.
Yes, I’ve left London and moved to the country.
HEEEEEEEELP!
At the moment, I’m sitting here in my timber-beamed living room near Saffron Walden, overlooking massive pine trees and farmland, neither of which has changed over the past several hundred years. Bunnies are hopping about all over the place, there’s a pheasant (I think) balancing on top of my hedge, checking out my fallen Bramley apples, and a family of squirrels is gathering nuts.
So all in all, an idyllic country scene. No hum of traffic outside my window, no tube within walking distance, and no buses to anywhere but Stansted Airport or Cambridge. Well, ok, admittedly Cambridge is indeed a cultural centre, but not in terms of the creative industries per se. If you want a job in the technical industries or pharmaceuticals, you’re welcome to come and rent one of my outhouses…
Outhouses? Once again… HEEEEEEEELP!
Of course, everyone has doubts and fears when they buy a new house and/or moves to another area, but somehow my doubts and fears haven’t been allayed by the moving-in process itself, which is often the case. Although I was born and brought up in Hertfordshire, my move to London relatively late in life (at the age of 32) was the best thing I ever did. My whole world changed, socially and in terms of gainful employment. So to leave it all behind seems like a rather humongous thing to do. But with the 500-mile-a-week commute from northwest London to northeast Hertfordshire starting to take its toll on my wife, it was really our only choice.
Culture shock aside, perhaps my fears are misplaced. For a start, I work for most of my freelance clients remotely anyway. Indeed, I have never even met some of them. Electronic communication has never been easier, we all have mobiles or smartphones, and video conferencing is always an option too. So although geographically I may not be living in London any more, it may well be that the impact on my working life will be a big fat zero. There is literally no reason why I shouldn’t keep and work for all the same clients I’ve worked for in the past. And anyway, if I do happen to need to visit the metropolis, I’ve got a car, or Liverpool Street is only an hour’s train ride away; this is hardly the Outer Hebrides.
So perhaps I’m panicking unnecessarily. Perhaps this really was the best choice. Perhaps the bunnies and the squirrels and the pheasants and the farmland will encourage and nurture my creative juices rather than dry them up.
Time will tell. But right now I’m popping outside to chop some logs for my wood burner…
Ashley is a copywriter, editor and blogger
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Jessica Hazel December 18th, 2013, late afternoon
Sounds rather lovely!