Outside London Livin’

Today we saw a very lovely 15th Century cottage in Eynsford (apparently pronounced ‘ayns-ford’, which is important, if I don’t want to be unilaterally and instantaneously hated by the locals) – it’s the middle one.

With a fully electricked and plumbed-up summer-house:

And a rather gawgus (and rather overlooked by the neighbours) jardin:

Maybe a bit dated, internally, but nothing a Ligne Roset suite wouldn’t fix:

And set in the tumbling Kent countryside, where the skies are huge and swans and signets, swan-about on the Ford, which you can either travel over, on the bridge, or through, in your rudimentary 4×4:

Serious gorgeousness. Though this is a not-entirely-reassuring photo of the village flooding…

The nearest supermarket is 5 miles away, the only shop is a butcher, there are three pubs, a church and a station. I tell myself none of this matters, because if I lived in Eynsford, I would mainly be doing the following:

  • Baking cakes for Bofo and his cricket-club buddies (I’m not sure he even wants to join said club, but who else will eat my scones?)
  • Making jam, and chutney (for village fete prize winning)
  • Arranging wild flora, and growing camelia’s, wisteria, violets, roses, peonies and love-in-the-mist
  • Setting tables with crisp, starched, linen, and multiple, purpose-specific jugs
  • Attending neighbourhood residents meetings
  • Tending to the festival of pets I would acquire
  • Painting pictures in the summer-house
  • Drinking Earl Grey on the patio
  • Paying nearly three grand in season tickets

S’all gone a bit Good Life round here…


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