Over the course of my life I have lived in numerous houses, both home and abroad, but had always craved an escape to the country - to live in the back end of nowhere. A few years ago when circumstances gave me the freedom and my children had flown the nest, I took the plunge.

The house, a pretty enough barn conversion in a rural Herefordshire village close to my mother, should have been the perfect retreat for someone seeking that change in tempo and lifestyle. I settled in well enough and for a while enjoyed what I had set out to find: fresh air, village life, drives to the nearest town halted regularly to allow flocks of sheep to meander in front of me.

But the house, with its low beams and wonderful views, never took to me. Or perhaps I never took to it. The transition from house to home, which should so seamlessly occur over time, never did. Maybe it was the constant travelling with work or the irregular visits from my two children but after two years the reality dawned on me that the house was just a stop gap. Memories had of course been made but they weren’t enough for me to settle. It was time to leave.

Having made the decision, selling the house became an obsession. As I hadn’t been able to fall in love with it, I worried nobody else would either. Thus, spiders were conquered, windows sparkled, cushions plumped. The little touches that are supposed to help sell a house were put in place: pots of sunny daffodils, the smell of fresh baking and a friendly ‘hello’ across the hedge from a cooperative neighbour.

Whatever potential buyers asked, I found the answer. Would their unusually wide car fit in the garage? I measured it. Would the local newsagents deliver a particular newspaper? I phoned them. My knowledge base grew to the workings of septic tanks and the local school’s Ofsted report, not to mention providing a character breakdown for all the neighbours.

Of course, the best viewers had coffee, chatted endlessly, stayed and made themselves at home. They saw what I could not in the house, and this was confirmed when they made an offer.

A short while after that, I moved to my much-loved home in Hampshire. The old house had been a chance to dip my toe in the rural way of life, but we had both known our relationship wouldn’t last. I still go back sometimes to visit my mother and friends, and catch up on village gossip, but I have no regrets at all about leaving my stop-gap house.

ZT, Farnham

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What makes a house a home and why does it matter so much? Our new series, 'Moving Stories', inspired by Savills new advertising campaign, explores the complex relationship between home and home-owner with funny, sad and bittersweet reflections on moving out, moving in and moving on.

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