Returning after a holiday break is always difficult, especially when it’s been such a brilliant time.

After a week away on our annual UK-cation to Devon, we are all smug smiles and suntans after somehow managing to choose the hottest week in 2014. Not being from a family blessed with good luck, this was somewhat of a turn-up for the books. The sun shone relentlessly from dawn and we’ve morphed into a sun kissed boho family who have not even seen a hairbrush all week let alone worn shoes. It was the sort of break that we’ll remember forever, beautiful sunsets, beach barbecue’s and simplicity. All with the added bonus of not costing and arm and a leg and not involving battling long airport queues.

How easy it is to get carried away with the idea of a total change of life. For us, it’s almost become part of the holiday experience and we have yet again spent the week flicking through back copies of the slick and glossy Devon Life magazine, discussing how nice if would be to live in a house by the sea and marvelling at how much more our eye-watering sized mortgage could buy. Year after year we discuss the idea of buying one of these South Devon beauties and working as dentists in a buzzy little town; finishing each working day out on a boat and watching the children grow up into bronzed wholesome surf dudes. How we could feast on locally sourced produce, Devon having successfully branded itself as one the UK’s finest foodie destinations. We’d live in a world of clotted cream and hand-reared beef; locally produced cheese and bountiful seafood. The sun would shine for at least nine months of the year and life would be a relaxed celebration on a daily basis.

My Monday morning commute to work this week was hellish. Road works on every conceivable route into Oxford and a journey that took an hour longer than usual. Thank goodness I was still floating high on my cloud of holiday relaxation with plenty of time to ponder the idea of actually making the leap and properly relocating.

The cruel fact is, work is work wherever you live and I'm going to be doing it for years to come.

Although I was stuck in what seemed like the world’s longest traffic jam, at least I wasn’t wedged into a 20ft hedge trying to pass a car coming in the other direction on a lane made to accommodate a horse and cart through the rolling Devon hills. When the sunshine finally stopped beating down, which I was forced to admit would even happen in Devon, travelling around Oxfordshire roads has got to be rather more straightforward and that’s even before there’s a hint of snow fall. The rambling old rectory on the edge of the sea may not seem quite so idyllic when the wind starts blowing and the heating bills arrive. And there really is only so much clotted cream a girl can eat without starting to resemble a hand-reared cow herself. Even the idea of the boat seemed tarnished at the thought of the endless maintenance and sea water would play havoc with my split ends.

The bustling market towns may hold slightly less attraction on a wet Tuesday in February.

By the time I arrived in Botley, I was reconciled to the idea that I quite like life just as it is. I guess it’s an indication of what I think about my job that I arrived with no sick feeling in my stomach at the thought of work.

The sun shines here too and although I don't live by the sea, we’re spitting distance from the beautiful river Thames. Most importantly, I’d miss the people and the eclectic mix that Oxford offers.

So for now, or at least until we go through this process again in 2015, we're staying put and Devon will remain our idyll.

Who knows what the future holds, but for now, I’ll get my clotted cream from the supermarket, butter myself a scone and flick through the photos from our week. Oxford may not have it all, but where does? Oxfordshire can hold its own and for now it’s where we’re staying. See you soon Devon, our wonderful holiday friend.

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