Well, I’ve done it. I’ve moved home. The horses arrived safely but the lane to the house is so narrow, and a dead end, the box had to offload them. Given it was by now 9pm, and pitch black, this was a nightmare: Nic had to lead them up a strange lane to their tiny field, but they were so exhausted, they were all as good as gold. The feral cats were in a cage in the horsebox, and were too heavy to carry along the lane, so the box, Nic and the cats had to drive to my friend’s house, where they were offloaded temporarily into her office.
I followed the next day with my dogs and cats. Even getting four collies into the back of the Land Rover was a struggle, given Jess and Michael are now so old and arthritic (a bit like me, apparently, as I’ve found out I’m referred to as ‘Nana’ on Twitter) they had to be lifted. Grace Kelly shook in her harness, and stress weed on my Jimmy Choo biker boots. As I left the farm for the last time, I knew I would never go back. I didn’t shed one single tear.
Of course, I understand a lot of what I experienced on Exmoor was my fault: I wrote about the locals, albeit in a gentle way, and they objected. No one likes being written about, but when it’s done by a Londoner, and a single female one at that, it’s asking for trouble. So I’ve decided I’m not going to reveal where I live now. All I will say is that it’s beautiful, and next to a river: the lawn slopes down to the banks.
On my first morning, I couldn’t wait to get out of bed. I’ve invited my best friend to stay, whereas I was so ashamed of my house in Somerset I never wanted anyone to see it. Everything was different about moving here. It’s warm. It’s spotless. It’s small, just two rooms downstairs, and quiet and peaceful. The garden is entirely walled, so the puppies are much safer. Even Mini Puppy comes when I call her, although none of my dogs have yet learned to sit, or stay. I must be more assertive. No wonder no one takes me seriously.
As I left the farm, I knew I’d never go back. I didn’t shed one single tearI was worried about the horses, though. Used to 50 acres, they were now in just over two. I had to leave my hay stack behind, as it would have cost £4,000 to transport, so had no extra food to give them. By day two, the horses were standing, heads down, miserable, in mud. But I think my luck is changing. A neighbouring farmer offered me his 40-acre field with huge barn, opposite the house. To see the joy on the horses’ faces as they galloped away to explore the new pasture almost made the past five years seem worthwhile.
While the pasture back in Somerset was too rich for the ponies, here it is so scrubby that for the first time they can all be out together. The only mishap was when Susie got her arm through her new pink collar, and tried to strangle herself. I had to snip it off with scissors. I have had no internet for a week, and my mobile doesn’t work here, as it’s so remote, so for the first time in a decade I have come down from my super-busy high. I have been unavailable.
At the end of the week, I thought I’d better reconnect with the world. I drove to the local village, which has a perfect green, but still no signal. I parked, and climbed a hill. My phone buzzed into life. Ping, ping, ping, ping. It was like that moment in the first Sex and the City film, when Carrie is roused out of her Mexi-coma, and switches on her phone to find her mailbox full. I had 11 new voicemails.
I pressed one, and listened to the first. My sister, hoping I’d arrived safely. Another, from BT. A couple more. And then seven messages from him. I was slightly buoyed to hear the desperation in his voice as he found he couldn’t get hold of me. I haven’t even given him my new address, so there is no way he can find me. I’ve decided if he wants me then he has to work for me. Respect my space. I called him back.
More... Liz Jones: In which I confront him Liz Jones: In which I snoop on my ex Liz Jones: In which there’s a miracle