Life in the valley.

I wondered whether I should describe the new house?

Well, for starters there is nothing new about it. It's ooooooold. Like 400 years old.
Old and beamy. As beamy as the Mary Rose. Every room has a beam in it somewhere. If there was ever a wood crisis (notwithstanding the poor Ash) we'd have to watch out for looting chez nous. Maybe that's why the villagers kindly enquire when we're getting a dog?

It's a house made for little country hobbits with big hairy feet and short bodies. My children are ok
(maybe not such big hairy feet). Husband has good feet for the house, but possibly too much height. I take the medium.
Husband has banged his head a few times. Less now that he's developed the Bumpkin Stoop.
Above the bath there is a beam which holds the sloping ceiling - for the taller members of the family it becomes a feat of engineering and gravity to get in and out without smacking the top of the head on this beam.
The back door comes at an extra-low height. Perhaps to make other hobbits who visit feel at home.
Probably once or twice a month there is a sharp OOOW followed by a muttering of fucks shits and wanks from one of the responsible adults in the house, and vigourous head-rubbing.
Liz has a room that overlooks the hill and the church. She can lie in her (really annoying why did we ever buy it?) cabin bed and gaze up at the hill counting the cows or imagining James' Giant Peach falling squarely onto the church spire.
Mols room looks out over the garden and the road. After breakfast each morning, she goes up to her room to brush her teeth (yes, a sink in her bedroom! luxury). After breakfast each morning as she brushes her teeth, from the kitchen (whilst I fend off wood-looters with my fake dog) I hear these bubbled toothpasty shouts of "PURPLE BUS, PURPLE BUS, ZAP PURPLE BUS". Like a minor form of tourettes, Mol & Liz play this game where if they see a mini, a yellow mini, a yellow car, and now, The Purple Double Decker that passes through the village at 8am each morning to pick up the kids to go to The Petersfield School - they have to scream out loud what they have seen, and 'tap' (define 'tap', Mol, Liz?) each other. If they can't 'tap' each other they have to shout ZAP.
Driving to swimming, trying to have a conversation...
"So, Mol, how was your day at school?"
"Fine."
"Did you..."
"ZAP! mini"
"...did you manage to hand in your..."
"yellow car"
"... homework?"
"yes I did and then Harriet mini & I got the skipping ropes purple bus out of the box and raced mini across the playground but yellow car Liz was in my way and I mini kicked her mini accidentally"
"?"
"Can't we just have a normal conversation girls?"
"no mini"
"mini" (liz joins in)
"but I just said mini"
"mini zap"
"but I did that one"
both: "MINI"
At which point I put the radio on.
Loud.

Back to the house.
So, it's beamy and has low doorways. And nice old red brick. And a big roof. Surprisingly - made of tiles. Yes a tiled roof and red bricks. How about that? In the countryside. I dare you to challenge the conception that we all live in quaint little houses.
And on the outside grows wisteria. All the way around the house, bar one side (the side closest the pub. Yes we live next door to the pub. The smell of fish on Fridays... can be good, can be too much at 9am...). I think the plant is actually holding the house together.
People, weird people, people visit the village and then in the summer they take pictures of the wisteria. It has pretty purple flowers and they dangle. But we all know what wisteria does, yeah? It dangles and is purple. Do people need to take photos of it? Shall I stand guard and charge? Or better still put my tourettes children outside the house. That'd scare them away. Zap.

So. Beams. Little doorways. Little cottage windows. Dangly Wisteria. Red Brick. Oh. Sounds a bit, um, quaint.
Quaint on the outside.
On the inside total urban minimalist chick. I mean chic. Yeah.
Not a wicker basket in sight.

So I hope this gives you a clearer picture. We have moved from a drafty Victorian terrace with endless ceilings and cornicing, to a small doored, fire hazard, with no foundations and a river prone to flooding next to it. I wonder why it was so mini cheap?