The quiet life of the country has never appealed to me. City born and city
bred. I have always regarded the country as something you look at through a
train window, or something you occasionally visit during the weekend. Most of
my friends live in the city, yet they always go into raptures at the mere
mention of the country. Though they extol the virtues of the peaceful life,
only one of them has ever gone to live in the country and he was back in town
within six months. Even he still lives under the illusion that country life is
somehow superior to town life. He is forever talking about the friendly
people, the clean atmosphere, the closeness to nature and the gentle pace of
living. Nothing can be compared, he maintains, with the first cockcrow, the
twittering of birds at dawn, the sight of the rising sun glinting on the trees
and pastures. This idyllic pastoral scene is only part of the picture. My
friend fails to mention the long and friendless winter evenings in front of
the TV - virtually the only form of entertainment. He says nothing about the
poor selection of goods in the shops, or about those unfortunate people who
have to travel from the country to the city every day to get to work. Why
people are prepared to tolerate a four-hour journey each day for the dubious
privilege of living in the country is beyond me. They could be saved so much
misery and expense if they chose to live in the city where they rightly belong.#
If you can do without the few pastoral pleasures of the country, you will find
the city can provide you with the best that life can offer. You never have to
travel miles to see your friends. They invariably live nearby and are always
available for an informal chat or an evening's entertainment. Some of my
acquaintances in the country come up to town once or twice a year to visit the
theatre as a special treat. For them this is a major operation which involves
considerable planning. As the play draws to its close, they wonder whether
they will ever catch that last train home. The city dweller never experiences
anxieties of this sort. The latest exhibitions, films, or plays are only a
short bus ride away. Shopping, too, is always a pleasure. There is so much
variety that you never have to make do with second best. Country people run
wild when they go shopping in the city and stagger home loaded with as many of
the exotic items as they can carry. Nor is the city without its moments of
beauty. There is something comforting about the warm glow shed by
advertisements on cold wet winter nights. Few things could be more impressive
than the peace that descends on deserted city streets at weekends when the
thousands that travel to work every day are tucked away in their homes in the
country. It has always been a mystery to me why city dwellers, who appreciate
all these things, obstinately pretend that they would prefer to live in the
country.&