Granite setts across the drive are what greet us as we arrive,
We had them done when we first found our bolt hole in the sticks.
Some have said that since we bought our little place they are now short
Of houses that would suit a local couple with three kids.
We don't agree that what we've done is harmful, though they seem to shun
Our presence when we all arrive and modesty forbids
From showing off what we bring down, from the shops we have in Town
The trouble is the village store sells biscuits and that soup in tins.
And when we flee here for weekends we like to dine with other friends
Who come down for the summer hols and half term in the spring.
We feel the place could not survive, but with our money now will thrive
Although we find we don't have time to use the local inns.
We simply love the sense of calm, the walks we take across the farm
On footpaths that our Hunter boots have saved from rack and ruin;
So do not chide, we mean no harm, for us this little place is balm
And now it's worth a fortune . . . for our sins.