We live in a village that's officially classified as rural. It kind of isn't, as we're only a few miles outside Cambridge, but it is a tiny little place and has a thriving community, village shop, mobile library and so on. And lots and lots of fields around it.
Anyway, the girls had a picnic tea tonight since the dining table is covered in sewing stuff, and the outside table had a washing line through the umbrella hole (yes, quite). Very fancy - you know, fishfingers and mash on the finest plastic fairy plates. Afterwards they went off to play, and I sneaked onto the computer until they wandered in and started putting bands and clips in my hair. Which was all very lovely, until I asked them why they weren't making the most of the garden. "Well Mummy," came the answer. "It's because it smells of piggies out there." I think the more delicate term is "A proper country scent".
They don't tell you about muck spraying in Country Living. We're eating inside tonight.