LONDON CALLING…

Congratulations.

You’ve chipped off the stone cladding from the front of your four-bedroom right-to-buy council house in Islington and trousered £1.5 million from its sale. The kids have left home and haven’t boomeranged back yet. It’s time to put the bruisings of London life behind you and seek instant karma in Totnes.

To help you hit the ground running, here’s a quick Q&A with Aluna Bobbysocks, our official Totnes Happiness Czar and House Whisperer.

Q: I’ve just landed in the Shire and positively trilling with excitement. I’m a retired Gong Bath Hygienist. My build budget is £3.5 million. Can I ever truly assimilate in Totnes?
— Cordelia, The Old Beagling Shed
Aluna replies: Hi, Cordelia. Assimilation is surprisingly straightforward. Get yourself down to the Recycling Centre for a bag of performative slogan T-shirts. Join the Free-Narnia Street Choir. Also mindfully develop a two-second satellite delay when speaking to people. An adorable pet is a must. Pop over to Professor Badger’s Rescue Centre. Someone has just dropped off a box of raccoons. Welcome to our town.

Q: I was out driving my £250,000 Kababashi Urban Defence Vehicle last night when the GPS went on the fritz and I ended up in a place called Bridgetown. What’s all that about?
— Brad, Kerching Mansion.
Aluna replies: Don’t panic, Brad. You’ve done what all affluent North Londoners fear most—you’ve driven south of the river by mistake. Bridgetown is the distant cousin of rarefied Totnes. It’s where the river folk live. Happy in their ways, they mow lawns, enjoy ample parking, and always eat fish on Fridays. Unlike Totnesians, they are free from garden wall disputes, flying freeholds, and whey-faced buskers. They lead simple lives— and are happiest when dragging bogwood over the riverside tussocks for winter fuel. Apart from keeping cardboard gorillas on their garage roofs, they pose no threat to you at all. Nice wheels, Brad!

Q: We’ve just arrived and renting until something ridiculously expensive comes up. Unfortunately, Perry, my partner, lost the plot last night and stabbed our neighbour with a picket-fence paling for not giving us first refusal on his house sale. Will Perry do bird?
— Karen and Perry, The Rafters, Hemp Mews.
Aluna replies: No probs, Karen. We got this. Perry’s in the clear. Thanks to progressive local by-laws protecting traumatised DFL house-hunters, the only offence here would be if Perry removed the paling from your neighbour’s own side of the fence.

Q: Why aren’t there any high-end shoe shops in town?
— Carly, The Old Granolary.
Aluna replies: Carly, cool your kitten heels. Footwear is more grounded in Totnes. You’re more likely to twirl hemp twine in a ‘shoelace workshop‘ than get feral in a shoe-sale scrum. And remember, no wearing those Jimmy Choo leopard-print pumps on Dartmoor — you’ll get shot for sheep worrying.

Q: FFS! Where’s all my money gone? The walls of our six-acre townhouse are stuffed with clay pipes and goose feathers. The hairy-arsed builders have grazed and moved on. The build invoices are in. And crikey, I thought things were expensive in The Smoke! The wife’s gone ballistic — she thinks we’re trapped here in debt forever. We are stirring our tea with sticks.
— Charles and Freya, Grumbles House.

Aluna replies: Deep breaths, darlings. You’ve joined the upper echelon of Totnesians: the Posh Poor. Their dwellings exist in a sustainable state of decrepitude, but stare hard into the undergrowth and you’ll see a rusty French mangle to die for. They may have worried teeth and mismatched paint jobs on their K-reg Volvos, but from their walled gardens they harvest new potatoes on Christmas morning. You can’t buy that sort of rustic authenticity. So chins up, Charles and Freya. Soon, fuelled by penury, you’ll be whittling artisanal tea-stirring sticks from local vineyard prunings to sell on market days. Embrace it all. You may feel you’ve gone from London cosmopolitan to rural barn find, but you’re not trapped here—you’ve arrived.

That’s all for now, folks, but do keep your questions coming, and remember my back channels are always open for news of a daringly-priced house sale!
High Street hugs and Mwahs to all.
Aluna. X

(Disclaimer: This column is satire. It does not recommend resolving property transactions by stabbing someone with a fence paling. If you are considering this, please consult a solicitor or a psychiatrist.)
C

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