What do you really want?

Posted by Ellie Omahoney at 18:22 on 20 Feb 2010

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I was back in Cornwall this weekend and crossed the Tamar Bridge, which links the Cornish to the Devonians to catch up with my best friend and her husband. I was their bridesmaid two years ago when they made their vows in a room overlooking a beautiful Devon lake in the middle of a dense forest. They spend their weekends tramping around Dartmoor and up and down the clotted cream-coloured sands of South Devon's beaches Anna left the Westcountry briefly for university 12 years ago but as soon as she could, she returned home to Plymouth and plunged head-first into The Good Life. She's watched in bemusement as I've clambered up the ladder in a, let's be honest, slightly mad industry, coming home at Easter, summer and Christmas with tales of wayward rock stars refusing to get into cars for interviews I've set up, descriptions of the loo at Number 10 and armfuls of the latest beauty creams to test.

This time I was full of a press trip I'd been on to Heston Blumenthal's Fat Duck restaurant in Bray (a freebie from a Canadian fish oil supplements company).

‘We all met at Paddington and got on a coach! It was like being on a school-trip!' I squeaked. ‘Heston came out to speak to us about how he'd got into the restaurant business. He looks EXACTLY the same as he does on TV!' I added triumphantly. ‘Although he's really much posher than you'd think,' I added, nodding seriously. ‘After guzzling down the tasting menu, we got really tipsy and were then tipped back into the coach for a rowdy ride back to the Big Smoke! It was amazing!'

Anna peered at me from over the top of her coffee cup and frowned.  

‘What do you want exactly?' she asked gently.
‘Do you even know?' (this from her husband).

I looked from one to the other, confused. Hadn't we been talking about snail porridge?

‘Look, it all sounds really exciting,' Anna started, ‘But about two seconds ago, you were talking about how much you loved living life in the slow lane down here. Has all that changed?'

They both leant in closer, eyebrows raised. They'd obviously been discussing this.

‘Um, well, you're right,' I said, looking at Mike, ‘I don't know what I want. But I don't have to, do I? I'm getting the best of all worlds at the moment - country, town, single, attached, novelist, journalist, whatever.'

There was a silence as they both looked at me. I could be wrong but I think I saw something resembling pity flicker across their faces.

Is there anything wrong with being flighty at 30? Answers on a postcard to Cornwall. Or London.

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