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On beautiful autumn days I start to feel homesick. I’m homesick for where we live now, in the Berkshire countryside, with placid lakes and tangled woodland on our doorstep.

I remember the first time we discovered the countryside at the back of our cottage. Having viewed the house in the dark, we fell in love with the beams and the log fire and the exposed brick. We were completely oblivious of what else the place held; the hedgerows, the lovely country pub, the canal and the lakes.

We moved to this cottage from a two bedroom flat in the centre of Reading. I was 3 months pregnant and we were ready to give up the pub / restaurant / club lifestyle and live a simpler one. We wanted stairs and a room where we could eat at the table, rather than on our laps in front of the TV.

We rent our home and it’s served us well. It’s the place I brought my newborn baby home to. It’s the place where I nested like a mad pregnant woman. It’s the place where I spent 18 months working from home and watching my baby turn into a little girl.

It’s not our forever home though. The last year has been a busy one. The 70 hour weeks I’ve pulled since January (with only 2 weeks holiday) have been for a bigger cause. We have a dream of bagging one of those elusive first time buyer mortgages one day, so that we can have more babies and put down proper roots. We imagine rooms painted to our own taste, DIY projects and a sense of security we’ve never had living in a rented home.

That’s our future, hopefully. One day.

But, for now, this place will do. I need to learn to love it again.