Further research today reveals that other ‘famous’ neighbours in Exmoor will include Sir Ranulph Fiennes and Rachel Johnson (during school holidays at least). It also reveals that wearing Hunter wellies will mark me out as *from the town* and that I must not write about the lack of parmesan in the local village for fear of excommunication. I suspect that other things will mark me out as “not local” aside from my (aubergine) Hunter wellies, not least the fact that I really do not sound like I was born or grew up in West Somerset.
Still, for the time being, there are bigger things to worry about. Like paying the estate agents, who claim that they cannot receive money by online transfer as they will not know whether it is received until they receive their next statement. Or how we will make it to Somerset by 1pm next Saturday afternoon (when London is 4 hours drive away and we have an entire flat to load into a van/clean) so that we can pick up the keys to the flat, as that is when their office closes.
That and the fact that we have received information that our friends might be throwing us a surprise party next week. Only trouble is that the invitation to me was so low key I thought it was one drink with a couple of friends and didn’t mention it to Husband, who has a work dinner the same evening and so won’t be able to attend.