Recently, I read about a Scottish island with a population of 15, which is desperate for people to move there. Of course, once you’d answered the call, you could forget about popping to Waitrose, the upside being that you’d never have to queue again, except possibly for the three-times-a-week ferry to the mainland.
Ever since Billy-no-mates Wordsworth wandered lonely as a cloud among the daffs, there’s been a tendency to hanker after pastoral P&Q, communing with nature, the local wildlife and your own deeply interesting thoughts.
I took this to the next level recently when I visited a friend on a farm, agreeing to ‘muck in’ when requested.
A cinch , I thought. I lived on a farm until I was 7, making mud pies and running about barefoot…well, for…
