The myths of the English countryside

One of the great things about spending the summer holidays in England is that it gives you an opportunity to experience life in the country. All year, Caroline and I dream about moving out of London and spend hours scouring property websites to see what we could buy if we sold our house in Acton. But after a few days in Yorkshire or Suffolk, all our bucolic illusions are shattered. Suddenly, London doesn’t seem so bad after all.

We’re currently in Norfolk staying with a friend near Burnham Market — known locally as ‘Burnham Mark-up’ because everything is so overpriced. We went to a farmers’ market that charged twice as much as Tesco’s for fruit and vegetables on the grounds that they were ‘organic’ and ‘locally grown’: code for ‘bruised’ and ‘misshapen’. A peach that looked like a cross between a doughnut and a silicone breast implant cost £1.75.

One of the characteristics of places like Burnham Mark-Up is that the locals are constantly complaining about the ‘weekenders’ with their spotless Range Rovers and ‘city dogs’ and, at the same time, never waste an opportunity to milk them for every last penny. Visitors from London are always made to feel slightly unwelcome in spite of the fact that we’ve been propping up the local economy for decades. The man we’re staying with, a London refugee who lives here all year round, says the upside of this attitude is that when you are eventually accepted it feels that much more special. But is it worth putting up with all that grief just so the barman in the local pub will return your greeting after five years of monosyllabic grunting?

Then there’s the difficulty of getting from A to B. Asking a local for directions is out because they will always reply, ‘I’m not from round here.’