If you told me in 1994 that I would end up living in my granny’s cottage making a living from sewing and knitting I would have rolled my eyes to heaven and told you to get real. That was the year I flew to London for an interview and didn’t come home until 16 years later. Everything seemed to be doom and gloom in Ireland and leaving was the thing to do. I went to London to wear sharp suits, drink Americanos and live the city life.

However my commutes were spent sketching in notebooks and planning my evening’s activities. I was a closet crafter - making cards, sewing, knitting and attending every course I could find. I soon started daydreaming about moving to the country to live a crafty life. I had notebooks of clippings with cottage décor, piles of fabric and all manner of ideas stockpiled. Little did I know that THE cottage was already sitting there waiting for me at home in Ireland.

During one of many weekends home my dad presented me with a site of land on which to build a house. I was only in my early 30s and was a little more than daunted. Instead, I asked if I could do up granny’s cottage and have it as a holiday home. He humoured me and so my weekends home were more frequent and the renovation started. The intention was to just have it as a holiday home but each time that plane landed in Knock and I drove down to Roscommon I struggled more and more with the journey back to London.

Before I knew it I was leaving London with plans to come back home for good. A year was spent renovating the cottage, during which time I had to move home with my parents. My Jimmy Choos were soon swapped for a pair of wellies and my busy commute turned into a walk down a country road with views of sheep and cattle as opposed to buses and black cabs. I missed my Americanos and flaky croissants but once I bought my coffee machine they were soon replaced with coffee and home baked scones. Meetings were swapped for coffee with friends and training forecasts were replaced with sewing projects and plans for my online business.

It certainly wasn’t, and isn’t, as rosy as it sounds. There were days I sat in the half-finished cottage and cried. There are weeks I don’t make a cent but I don’t regret my move for a minute. I’m living the dream.

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