We moved to the edge of the Cambridgeshire fens in the autumn of 1975 and I hated it.
It took years before I welcomed the sight of neatly ploughed fields revealing jet black fertile soil beneath the harvest stubble and the ever present sweetburn aroma of sugar beet from the neighbouring factory (now closed)
The huge skies are magnificent on a cloudless day and trees in all their glorious colours are not taken for granted because there aren't that many of them.
We've grown to expect our Indian summers. They never disappoint.
I need advice for a mutually messy situation






