Next month marks a year since I downsized from a six-bedroom home to my honey-stoned cottage in one of the Cotswolds’ prettiest villages.
I’ve spent the summer opening my front door to find American tourists taking photographs of my house and marvelling at our English country gardens.
On hot summer days, the hedgerows were idyllic, overflowing with wafting daisies and endless clouds of cow parsley. Roses tumbled over the dry-stone walls.
So, am I happy in my new home? I feel so guilty that I can hardly admit, even to myself, that the answer is no.
I am in the right location. And wouldn’t
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