When we started living in this place in which we were previously just tourists, it took some time to realise that we were not on a prolonged bed and breakfast holiday. As the novelty of a new home and geography wore off, and the realities of unpacking boxes and starting to conduct a daily life took over, we felt an overriding sense of loss for that automation to which we were accustomed. For us, the creation of new daily realities was, and is, only possible through exploration, observation and serendipity. We want to live this place, not merely exist in it.
On his way from Kensington (London) to East Everley (Wiltshire) in 1826, William Cobbett rode to a place called Tangley. There he approached a woman at a cottage to ask for directions to Ludgershall which he reckoned was only about four miles away. The woman said she did not know. Cobbett recounts this incident like this: Continue reading ‘Coming to Salisbury’
