More than four walls

I don't want to look out my window and see three rastafarians smoking dope on the lawn. I don't want to hear the man downstairs yelling at one of his four sons as he chases him around with a switch in his hand. I don't want to hear hoons in their ugly, souped up commodores screaming down the street with the bass booming. I don't want to smell cigarette smoke, curry on fire, or stale beer. I don't want to share walls with people I don't know. I don't want to shop at the supermarket. I don't care about fashion, clothes, latest music, where to eat, where to drink or where to be seen.

I want a water tank, solar panels, garden full of fruits, vegetables and herbs, chickens, ducks, a goat, over-size kitchen, walk-in pantry, garage full of old bicycles and cars, tree, neighbors who don' piss me off, a lawn-mower, a clothes-line, and to be able to leave my filthy boots and umbrella outside and not have them go missing. I want weekend markets, sitting outside on the lawn, neighbors who I don't hate.

I thought I was a city girl. I would max out my credit card, spend all my pay in a day, obsess over where to eat, where to go at night. I would spend an hour getting dressed and my hair was never ever right.

Now four months mostly living within the walls of our generally lovely two bedroom apartment, I realise that I like domesticity. Feeding my son, cooking, cleaning (ok so maybe not so much the cleaning...), taking long walks through the park, growing herbs, haggling at the market, eating food that I cook. But I want more of it. I don't need the city anymore, and I don't like outer suburbia.

I want to move to the country.