Ahh Peter, you are fabulous.
But you are still unhappy that you live in Surrey, land of the footballer, and the Russian millionaire. It's ok the good traditional Shire dweller understands your pain, living as I do steeped in history surrounded by green and pleasant historical land, rather than being bordered by Middlesex.
As I lived in London for 20 odd years I understand your throes of picque.
Maybe one day you can pop over and we can play some Aunt Sally at a local pub and you can smell the sweet sweet air of true Shire living 
First of all, I refuse to be lectured by someone who sounds like Sybil Fawlty's trashier sister. I see what happened. All those scratch cards you kept buying eventually found pay dirt and you decided to head off to the sticks, thinking all it took was a pair of green wellies to be accepted by the locals. There's a reason everyone gets up and leaves whenever you enter the local pub, and it isn't entirely the tear-gas effect of your cheap catalogue perfume. It's a shame people like you ever emerged from below stairs, your natural habitat.
We may have our fair share of Russians and footballers, but at least people live here. Wander through your neck of the woods and it's mostly empty, everyone buys these houses for weekend sex parties and not much else. Not that you'd be invited to anything like that, of course, hence your insane bitterness.
I'm not sure what Aunt Sally is, but it's probably some rustic obscenity practised by the lower orders while screaming drunk on rough cider.
