Although it’s humorous residing amongst the hipster neighborhood of Frome’s industrial property, when somebody affords to let me pitch my caravan on their farm I leap at it – relocating from concrete to an orchard, beside sheep, the place I grasp bunting from damson bushes like I’m glamping or doing a Temperley picture shoot. My new spot is so idyllic I am detest to go away, however I’ve deliberate every week in Ireland with my buddy Martin.
Driving from Somerset by means of Wales to the ferry at Pembroke, I realise it’s nearly a year since I final made this journey. A year that reshaped my life. Back then, I’d simply offered the east London flat that I’d shared with my fiancé, walked out on my relationship, a job, and a life I’d inbuilt the metropolis over 20 years.
I drove to Ireland then, below the glowering Brecon Beacons, with no thought the place I was heading. Now, following the identical route, I realize it properly. I go Abergavenny the place I got here to view homes. And keep in mind how, additional north in Snowdonia, I’d tried to purchase my outdated childhood household dwelling again – desperately trying to find one thing…
I drove by means of Crickhowell on that first journey, took a room in a pub, drank a bottle of wine and panicked. Before leaving Somerset this time, I go for a run – feeling grounded by the thud of my toes on earth.
Looking again now I chortle at how naive I was when I left London. Assuming I may purchase a home in the countryside in a couple of weeks – regardless of figuring out nothing about surveys, listed buildings or what ‘living above the snowline’ means. Telling individuals I was ‘moving to the countryside’, however with no appreciation of how completely different each county, village and lane in the countryside is.
I had no thought again then about the loopy ‘locals vs outsiders’ struggle in Cornwall or that I’d discover myself caught up in it. I naively believed I’d make buddies simply anyplace. I hadn’t factored in being an outsider or how claustrophobic village life will be. Or that being someplace the place individuals – as I do in Somerset – is reassuring, and invaluable.
I by no means thought of, when I tried transferring to Land’s End, what the rural relationship scene could be like or that my clichéd jokes about relationship farmers would possibly wind locals up.
In this previous year I failed a lot. I failed to purchase two homes in Cornwall. And failed to begin the new life I’d imagined for myself as a wannabe farmer on a desolate cliff.
Writing about my failures, I’ve been amazed by how individuals have responded – by the kindness of girls who’ve known as providing me rooms of their properties or pitches on their land, suggesting meeting for espresso, placing me in contact with their buddies, writing emails about how they began once more.
Now I drive in direction of Ireland feeling like a distinct girl. Then I was leaving a relationship by which I felt scared and alone – and a job the place I felt under-appreciated. It took me a year to relearn to worth myself. To take satisfaction in my resilience and independence. To discover my personal happiness.
A year in the past, I ran to Ireland panicking. Now I am solely anxious about getting again to Somerset. To drink cider at the Sheppey and see exhibitions at Hauser & Wirth. To hang around with L and F on the farm, and have dinner with R in Bath. To full on my home. And to spend time with Alex – somebody who I haven’t even advised you about but…
You can learn Katie Glass’s column, What Katie did subsequent, each Saturday from 6am on telegraph.co.uk