Not a lot happens in a sleepy market town in middle England. The days roll past, most of them much of a muchness with the other days of the week: Mondays are different because it’s bin day; Tuesday is market day; Wednesday the running club meets but frankly, that’s about it. There is a lot to be said for living somewhere like this – no cyclones, no earthquakes, no fire, flood or famine. No terrorism, no insurgency, no warfare. Frankly, it’s dull. I like life being dull. There is an ancient Chinese curse that goes ‘may you live in interesting times’ and, believe me, I can think of little worse.  Some people complain about the lack of events that happen round and about this town, but not me. I’ve lived in other places – both in UK and abroad – and somewhere quiet and parochial has a lot in its favour. For a start, people really care about their town; they get involved in the issues that are going to affect them or change things – sometimes because they want to see those alterations and sometimes because they don’t but, either way, they get involved because they care. And that aspect of the town is, I think, worth a lot more than it’s main line to London, it’s nearby motorway, the good school and the other things that make this place a ‘desirable place to live’ as the estate agents describe it. And long may it remain


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