Moving to the country – trading a tiny town house for a rambling, rural pile – it’s the middle-class dream, isn’t it? Well, it is if you’ve got three small children, a business run from home, and a garden that couldn’t say ‘boo’ to a shed.
That’s where my husband and I were two years ago: not really “living” in London, just treading on toys and yelling “there’s nowhere to put the baked beans”. Finally, we snapped. Tired of using our attic as a “climb-in wardrobe” and our car as a cupboard, we made the leap – and used our uncomfortable perch on the London property ladder to vault into not-so-neighbouring Wiltshire..