Illusions of pastoral peace

The quiet life of the country has never appealed to me. City born end city bred, I have always regarded the country as something you look at through a train window, or something you occasionally visit during the week-end.most of my friends live in the city.yet they always go into ratures at the mere mention of the country. Though they extol the virtues of the peaceful life, only one of them has ever gone to life in the country and he was back in town withinsix months.even he stilll live under the illusion that country life  is somehow superior to town life. He is forever  taiking about the friendly  people ,the clean atmosphere the closeness to nature end the gentle pace of living.nothing can be compared,he maintains, with the first cock crow,the twittering of birds at dawn, the sightof the rising sun glinting on the trees and pastures.this idyllic pastoral scene is only part of the picture. My friend fails to mention the long and friendless winter evenings which are interrupted only by an accasional visit to the local cinema-virtually the only form of entertainment. He says nothing about the poor selection of goods in the shops, or about those unfortunate people who have to travel from country to the city every day to get to work. Why people are prepared to tolerate a four hour journey each day for the dubious privilege of living in the country is beyond my ken. They could be saved so much misery end expense if they chose to live in the city where they rightly belong.

If you can without the few pastoral pleasurers of the country, you will find the city can provide you with the best that life can offer you have never to0 travel miles to see your friend. They anvariably live nearby and are always anviable for an informal chat or evening’s entertainment. Some of my acquaintances in the country come up to town once or twice a year to visit the theatre as a special treat. For them this a major operation which involeves considerable planning. As the play draws to it’s close, they wonder whether they will ever catch that last train home. The city dweller never experiences anxieties of this sort. The later ex hibitions, films, or plays are only a short bus ride away. Shopping, too, is always a pleasure. There is so much variety that you never have to make do with second best. Country people run wild when they go shoppingin the city and stagger home loaded with as many of the necessities of the life as they can carry.nor is the city without its moments of beauty. There is something comforting about the warm glow shed by advertisements on cold wer winter nights. Few things could be more impressive then the peace that descends on deserted city streets at week-ends when the thousands that travel to work every day are tucked away in their homes in the country. It has always been a mystery to me why city dwellers, who appreciate all these things, obstinately pretend that they would prefer to live in the country.