Just returned from a weekend in NYC. Arriving there on Thursday evening, straight into the heart of the hustle and bustle of Manhattan, was like waking up from a drug-induced haze. It was so cosmopolitan. So alive. There were people walking, running, talking, shouting, laughing. No-one asked me where I was from, or commented on how much they loved my accent. Nobody looked at me strangely when I strolled down the street. We sat outside in the sunshine, at cafe tables on the edge of the pavement and people-watched. It was fascinating. So many different shapes, sizes, colours, races. It was wonderful.

Would I want to live in Manhattan? Yes, yes and yes again. Although only if I had enough money. The friend we were staying with lives in the heart of Soho - in a one-bedroom apartment that is about the size of our bedroom, bathroom, walk-in wardrobe combination. His sitting room window looks onto a wall. His kitchen is almost small enough to be able to touch all four walls at once. And it's bigger than his old apartment. I found myself feeling almost smug about our enormous bedroom, plentiful spare rooms and spacious garden.

But I did love just being able to pop out - to a cool bar, or a great restaurant - and being able to walk around the city and explore. Not once did I wish for the car. Not once did I miss the slow pace of life.

We arrived back to a flooded kitchen floor (the tap had been knocked by something propped against it) and a clean--up operation that lasted until midnight. My brain was buzzing when I finally flopped into bed, so I did pop a sleeping pill. Today I'm back into the drug-induced haze again. How much of it is drug induced I'm not sure. But it is rather restful to be surrounded by green fields again (in our absence, the world seems to have turned green), and to hear birds, rather than cars. Am I turning into a country girl after all?