When I'm feeling overwhelmed, or overworked, or urban life starts to get me down, I sleep badly.
Over the years I've discovered the only way to avoid spending half the night restlessly picking the previous day apart in my mind, criticising everything I've said or done, is to imagine a place where I'm not affected by the demands of other people, or by ambition, or stress.
For some reason Scotland is my happy place. Not entirely sure why - it's not somewhere I know that well, on the scale of things. I think it's partly because I have
happy memories of it, partly that I always feel at home in a country filled with red-heads. But mostly I like the idea of the remoteness, and the water, and the greenness, and the big skies.
My dream-house vision has become more and more detailed over the years: it needs to have a kitchen with a stove and a dresser, and a cat curled up in a chair; it needs to be cosy and have uninterrupted views; it needs to be completely rural; and most importantly, it should be close to water.
I think I found it:
Admittedly, had they photographed it on a rainy day it would probably look slightly less inviting. But I still think it would be pretty amazing to be curled up inside (with my cat, and my spaniel/schnauzer/red setter) as crazy Scottish weather raged outside the window.
Now I just need to work out some kind of cottage industry to sustain me in my rural idyll pipe dream. Like weaving. Or fishing. Or online agony Aunt-ing. Or something. When I picked a career, I didn't foresee that I'd end up wanting to live as far away from civilisation as humanly possible. Short-sighted Celia...
