It's cooler in Somerset.

We arrived in Somerset late afternoon on a day so hot that even I couldn’t help but mention it. I don’t like talking about the weather. When it’s raining and people say it’s raining, it feels the same as seeing a mug on the table and saying there’s a mug.

Likewise when it’s hot. And of course, it has been quite hot lately.

When we stopped at the petrol station for iced coffees and crisps, it actually reminded me of being in the Thar Desert in India. So, I did quickly and quietly mention it, feeling like a hypocrite, trying to make it more interesting with my cultural reference.

My mum had arrived in Somerset a day ahead of us and assured me that it was cooler there than in London. My parents go between London (where my mum is from) and Somerset (where my dad’s family live) and my mum often talks about the air.

It is fresher. And, according to a quick Google search, a few degrees cooler. At 10.30am in London it’s 28°C, while in Somerset it’s 24°C. Still, we arrived and I sat still, looking out at the garden, feeling sweat beads dripping down me.

This summer, I’ve stopped caring about sweat. Everyone has wet patches under their armpits, glistening skin and damp hair. I think it’s best to just roll with it. Embrace it. Let the body sweat, which will cool us down. Bodies are so clever.

As the sun dropped lower, the air cooled. The kids ran around the garden playing bat and ball, swinging on the swing, jumping off and landing on their knees. They forgot about screens. It got darker still, and the bats began swooping down.

I was on Rightmove recently, looking at houses in Frome. The Somerset town we left two and a half years ago, and that I miss. I’m glad to be in London, near my family and old friends, and some new friends, but there is something magical about Frome.

There is a new lake that my friends go swimming in, on a farm. It always looks like no one’s there, in their photos. Quiet. Peaceful. An alfresco bar in town like something you’d find in Ibiza. So many saunas. Parties. Proper coffee from good coffee shops.

When I first lived in Frome with my husband (we got married while living there, when I was 25), we stayed one year. We moved back to London for work and said that we’d return a decade later. And we did. This time, with three children and a cat.

I said I’d give it two years. In that time, we made some very special friends and truly sank into the magic of the town. But as the two years came to a close, we had to return to London for several reasons (school/family/work). And it was the right thing to do.

Still, I long for parts of that Frome life we had.

When we left Frome this time, it was messy and so there was no let’s return in 10 years. But, sometimes I wonder if we will. In 10 years, my youngest child will be 17. I wonder what life will look like? My eldest will be 22. My middle one 19. I will be 51.

In the meantime, we will spend time in Frome in the holidays.

One of my friends there has kittens and asked us to kitten-sit, which was the best message ever, so we will go from here to Cornwall, to see my mother-in-law, and then onto Frome to hang out with the kittens (and a cat, and a tortoise and a gecko).

I pitched an idea to my husband, in the car on the way to Somerset, about spending our savings on a little patch of land in or near Frome that he can build a small house on. We could stay in a caravan, on the land, in the holidays, while he builds.

These days, he films his builds. And he’s made a YouTube channel all about it, which has massively taken off. He said to me one day: I’m going to start a YouTube channel, get over a million views and make money from it. A few months later, he had. I was amazed.

In this dream, my husband and I can both work in the term-time and then, in the holidays, he can build a house, while I look after the children, potter around Frome, swim in lakes and have an hour here and there to write and run my membership.

(He’s not on-board with it yet.)

Now, I need to go, to close up the co-writing session I’m currently hosting. We meet on Fridays at 10am and also on Tuesdays. I wanted to see if I could start and finish an essay in the hour and I have. There’s more about The Creative Way Collective here.

Though, I couldn’t also do the illustration. So, I’ll do that this afternoon, while my children are playing in the garden. By the time you’re reading this, there will be a drawing at the top. I love that part of this ‘work’. An opportunity to draw.

Thank you for being here, and for reading.

Annie x