To want a Country Living lifestyle?

[meditatingwithdolly]

This is lighthearted. I've had a series of unfortunate events in the last year and have moved to a very deprived area with a lot of social problems, which is probably causing me to fantasise a bit more than usual. Subscribed to Country Living magazine on a whim as it was very heavily discounted. One of the highlights of the month is hearing it fall on the doorstep and I have to grab it quickly before it gets stolen. It provides wonderful escapism, the sky is blue all year around, everyone is sooo happy washing rocks in rivers and the animals are never PITAs, unlike my pets. No one ever has money problems, and the cost of living is an afterthought as sustainability and self-equilibrium are the utmost priority.

Women have lovely, fulfilling jobs that "they stumbled upon entirely by accident" eg Jilly, who was always very frustrated by the lack of solar heated plant pots for her oriental orchids that she fell in love with on her travels in SE Asia, and one day whilst walking her collie-cross dog Shep in her 50 acre paddock, she stepped in wild horse dung and had the wonderful idea to give up her full time job and start a sustainable business making her own handmade pots from dung. She did the completely obvious thing of untying her neck scarf, filling it up with as much dung as she could find, and carried it back to her 6th century renaissance 12 bedroom house, where her husband Robert greeted her with a warm smile at the site of her Dick Whittington style knapsack, and immediately started building her a cosy workshop-cum-snug where she hosts the local edible flower supper club 3 nights a week, when she's not up to her elbows in excrement. She had no idea if her £199 pots would take off, and was most shocked when she had 10,000 orders in her first week.

No one needs a business plan or a budget, peace of mind and a sense of zen is much more important than bringing in a wage. Forty two year old Carol was so stressed by her teaching job that she just handed in her notice and planted 40,000 carrots in her small holding. Originally intended to be a business, Carol admits sheepishly that she's so fond of each one (who she has given names to) that she cannot bear to part with them. "My husband Marcus jokes that they are my babies", she laughs, "but in reality it's true. These carrots have regulated my sensory nervous system, which the daily grind of work had just worn away. I simply had to give in to what my body was telling me. Watching each and every one of them grow and develop their own little personalities is nature's way of giving back to me".

First world problems keep these people awake at night, such as 31 year old Jackie, who couldn't find curtains for the nursery that reflected the personality of her unborn son. "I really sensed that he he felt a deep connection with the Ottoman empire, and I was just flabbergasted at the lack of relevant material on the market", she laments. At 39 weeks, she jumped upon a flight to Istanbul, after having a dream that the perfect print was in Topkapi Palace. "Everyone thought I was utterly mad", she laughs, but when she was hypnotized by the Turkish style tulip motif tiles in the palace state room, baby Freddie shot out of her uterus, confirming to her that this was the perfect print for the nursery. Three hours after giving birth she opened her business designing bespoke curtains for equally distressed parents-to-be. "They understood the stress as they were undergoing the same thing. Being able to relate to them really helped me zone into what it was that they really wanted. Sometimes words aren't enough, you have to be able to finely tune stress signals others are giving out in order to see their vision". Jackie (and baby Freddie) now work out of her garden studio, and she has been commissioned by the Royal Family to produce the perfect print for sash window in King Charles' water closet. "Every morning I wake up with a warmth that radiates throughout my body, and I love that Freddie has input in my work, this is all because of him, really".

AIBU to want to a job like this? Where everything is a lovely colour and all the materials are made of earthen clay and rare plant dyes? No money problems, no annoying customers, no bins that haven't been lifted by the council (there's no need for a bin anyway, all rubbish is fully compostable). Do people really have a business where people pay to meditate with sheep, or is Country Living an entertaining work of fiction?

Most definitely. You need a contrived back story and obviously a studio. No CL product is without either of those. You will get bonus points if the bobbin lace is for Mongolian horse bridles or some other obscure purpose. It couldn't possibly be for mere decoration!

And all of you who feel let down regarding your male relatives who have not yet discovered the love of tapestry; grieve no longer - for I have added it to the 'retreat' 🪡🧵

I think you may be able to fund your CL lifestyle by writing. That made me crack up!

Thank you very much [doffs my homespun tweed angora wool cap]. I only want to write for Country Living though - I'm loyal to the brand and lifestyle. I have a feeling they are itching to pm me offering me a position, but their pride is getting the better of them! I am capable of raising CL off the second shelf of Sainsbury's and through the literary stratosphere! There's no need to feel threatened dear editor, I WILL SUPPORT YOU, NOT FIGHT FOR YOUR SEAT!

Point out Edward VIII was ace at tapestry - did petit point covers for dining chairs

Oh this reminds me of my 17 year old son picked one up and asking me when I was going to retreat to my writing room to pen my thank you notes after the Christmas festivities. There was a whole 2 pages showing us how to do this, what paper to choose and pens to use. Your writing is fab OP

Recalling Pernilla who was pictured gardening in £800 cream cashmere jumper, how I wanted to be her.

Of course darling, design before practicality is always the CL mantra!

Not to mention Pernilla's gardening consists more of directing her gardening staff than shovelling compost herself 😁, naturally though, as she has provided the all important concept, she deserves all the credit...

I'm sure our Pernilla had many a sleepless night fretting over the garden design, the poor girl can't do it all herself!

Love your opening post! It was sheer Cunty Life glory:-)
Ex-Mil used to pass on her CL magazines to me and I would look at them and think, “what the fuck am I doing with my life that I don’t harvest organic dandelion fluff and sell it for a living from my Georgian conversion farm house. Wankers, all of them!

Exactly! I can't wait to start the job so I can get to the bottom of it!

Thought some of you might enjoy this. This thread has ruined one’s algorithm.

Note the use of random architectural detail (ramparts, see also Linhey), humblebrag signposting of enormous residence (98 steps, library), use of “mummy and daddy” rather than “mum, dad”, or “bro”, titled plucky heroine who is obviously on the verge of penury but still manages to afford ridiculously expensive outerwear (she was never going to be pulling on a pac a mac or a Tesco hoodie), worrying about rare irreplaceable books rather than the TV or iPads, and the amusing calamity involving dead animals.

No idea but man you write well

😂 ❤️

That's the Duchess of Rutland at Belvoir Castle. Really much more Country Life than Country Living.

Dont forget the smell of muckspreading and the usual rural conversation opener, 'Sol how's your septic tank then?'

I've just been pondering fallen walnuts in my garden. Should I make tiny salt and pepper cruets out of them, when my husband quasimodo finally completes our very first linhay, which could be repurposed as my studio?

Nah. You need to make them into turkeys and flog them to unsuspecting Americans for their Thanksgiving displays

Very Jilly Cooper

I've just read my first ever CL article! About a woman who loses herself in the ancient craft of basket weaving! She works in timber frame sheds built by her husband and brother! And goes to the West Country to harvest rushes every year!

What other sheds are there?

And where else would one go for rushes?

😁

Tell me you're a pleb without telling me you're a pleb #joinmyclub.

Obviously you don't actually know where the rushes are, it all happens by chance for these CLs.

The stars aligned one glorious Michaelmas morning for Juniper, when she was sailing contently in the wicker boat her husband Olly made her for Christmas, down the river estuary tucked away behind her cosy, snug 16 bedroomed farmhouse in rural Devon. "I went on a morning paddle to find some salmon to stroke," Juniper explains. "In a world of utter chaos and dismay, I find the stroking of salmon to be a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss," she explains.
Then, to Juniper's horror, her jumper got snagged on what she thought was a willow branch. "It was quite hilarious really," she laughs; "who would think looking at this ratty old jumper that it has any meaning to me. I was simply devastated," she goes on, with a solitary tear escaping her humble left eye. It all gets to much for Juniper, and husband Olly steps in, allowing her the moment to deal with the painful flashback: "You see, Juni spent 8 months in the Andes, rescuing alpacas who had an allergy to the high altitude. She literally nursed them back to health, playing soothing tunes on her Irish tin whistle".
Juniper (or Juni to friends) makes a stoic recovery and bravely continues: "You see, in my gap year I attended a conservatoire in County Donegal, where I learned the art of the tin whistle. People think it's just a metal recorder but they are simply unaware of the true meaning behind it. When my friend Pru told me about the plight of these alpacas, my heart - whilst broken - knew they needed it. Their favourite was 'Oh Danny Boy' Juniper says, and both her and Olly bellow with restorative laughter. As a thank you, Abuela, the matriarch of the alpaca herd knitted me this jumper from the fleece she cut from her first grandchild. So obviously, it was a monumental shock when my jumper got snagged" she explains. "Simply devastating," retorts Olly, who has now gripped Juni's hand in support.
Juniper composes herself: "when I turned around to release those precious stitches you can just imagine the absolute shock I had to discover they were bulrushes - the actual proper ones from Biblical times. I just knew there and then that this was a sign from above; the Creator, Mother Nature, call it whatever you want, but I knew this was my calling".
Juniper reversed her wicker boat around and paddled as if her life depended on it (her paddle, she tells me was made by her friend Beck, who makes spoons and boat paddles out of wood she forages from Saharan oases) and went straight back to tell Olly about her discovery.
"It was quite hilariously alarming," Olly recalls - "I thought she had discovered a mummified tapestry cushion from the way she was behaving!" They both erupt into a cacophony of laughter; their pure love for each other as tangible as an electricity pylon in an unspoilt vista. "I thought she was quite bonkers, " he says, trying to regain some form of normal breathing - "but as I approached them in my own handmade wicker canoe, it was like stepping into a a perfect bath of zen" he says, the muscles in his eyelids drooping from ecstacy.
Juniper takes over again, highlighting how much in sync they are - the flow of conversation bouncing between them like an organic hand felted ping pong. "I just knew our life had changed, the universe was calling us". Olly solemnly nods, "we did the obvious thing - we resigned from our jobs and I built a timber framed shed" he explains. "We then needed a business plan" Juniper finishes. "This house had belonged to Olly's grandfather, he'd actually forgotten that he owned it [they both bellow with laughter] so we decided to bring it back to life" she explains.
"We immediately called my friend Robert, who is president of The Royal Society for the Protection of Biblical English Bulrushes" who warned us that by bulrush law we could only harvest 10 percent of the crop per year" Olly explains. "And that only gives us 34 bulrushes per year!" pipes in Juniper, as they both erupt into enthusiastic laughter. "It's fine," says Olly. "Money really isn't the be all and end all" and they both clearly agree with this sentiment. "Olly has enough rushes to weave one basket every three years, and I supplement his income by offering tin whistle therapy to alpacas for one week every summer" Juni tells me.
My time with the very busy couple has come to an end. As I look around, taking in the beautiful scenery of their 150 acre garden, I wonder where in my past life I went wrong to not be an inheritor of The Country Living. Alas, I tell myself, all is not fair in love, linhays and land

Sorry for the fifty million typos, I'm in work and having to pretend I'm sending work related emails. No time for proofreading unfortunately!

Oh Juniper!

I can only honour your resilience. So much needed by the next generation.