I moved from London to a sleepy Devon valley – here’s what I’ve learnt from life in the countryside

“The sheep look like they’re bonking” called out neighbour number one. “I’ve come to see these horny sheep,” said neighbour number two scurrying up the lane. Half a day since our contribution to the village advent calendar had gone up in the windows of our white washed cottage and it was reassuring to know that the village gossip birds were winging their way through the inclement weather.

Firstly, I must say, I can not take credit for the advent scene. My mother, who is staying with us at the moment while her house has building work done, deserves all the plaudits. Two Shepherds washing their socks and three sheep doing the conga. Ambitious perhaps, but village life gets you like that.

Our ostensibly sleepy Devon valley of scattered hamlets is simply teeming with talent. If there were an Olympics for baking, gardening, singing and crochet then this would be its athletes’ village. As a parish of 500 it regularly displays remarkable reserves of community spirit. If you asked them to build a flood defence out of Victoria sponges they would don aprons without demurring.

And so, when two other new villagers suggested an inaugural living advent calendar, it was adopted without question.

Soon enough stars, signs and trees started to appear. The village craft group knitted 24 socks on a line and hung it up in the hall window; auctioned off at the Christmas choir concert to raise money for the village hall’s electricity bill. It’s now hanging over my fireplace.

Other contributions be them small and simple have adhered to the golden village rule; it is the taking part that counts.

Which in the whirligig 18 months of fish and chip nights, quizzes and 80th birthday parties, we surely have.

And so as the village’s Agas groan under the strain of homegrown sprouts this Christmas day, here are 24 things I’ve learnt about village life.

1. Three spaniels per household is a target, not a maximum

At a rough, wet nose count I can tot up 15 spaniels in the village. It’s hard to get exact numbers as they are rarely still long enough. They rank at all levels of obedience. One neighbour (who owns three) admitted to taking theirs beating at a shoot recently and was so appalled by her behaviour that they started calling it by another dog’s name, so as to muddy the field and spare their own blushes.

2. Postboxes are chameleon in form

A drain, a hole in the wall, a crack in a door anywhere but a flap in the door. It’s an initiative test I’ve consistently failed. That and actually finding some people’s front door from time to time. Fortunately our postwoman is immensely capable; she comes from a sheep farming family.

3. Linger anywhere for too long looking purposeless and you will be roped into bellringing

Their joyous peal rings out from our Norman church and fills my heart, but beware the merry bell ringing canvasser. Given half a chance they will kidnap you and put you to work in their tower.

4. There is just as much drama as The Archers

We’re low on teen pregnancies, but the lanes still thrum with drama. As fascinating as old village grievances are, they’re best stayed out of. And the challenge is to not start any of your own.

5. A head torch is an essential fashion statement

I only did it once; stepping out torchless for choir practice while it was still light and then gulping in the darkness at the end. Some places in the UK really are so unlit that your eyes do not adjust to the dark. I was lucky to make it home and not have drowned in the stream.

6. You can’t get a taxi

The nearest town is ten minutes away with a fair wind (no fog, cows or tractors in the lanes) but try telling that to the local taxi companies. Another reason to always have a head torch about your person in case of stranding circumstances.

7. But you can get an Indian takeaway delivered

I have witnessed them deliver to a neighbour’s home which is accessed through a vertiginous farmer's field full of sheep, with only the mildest of complaints.

8. None of the houses have numbers

“Bramleys are giving away free courgettes”: states the village newsletter. If only I knew where it was. Spare a thought for the poor intrepid Indian takeaway delivery person!

9. The community spirit is real

Thermoses of hot water in a power cut, endless jars of delicious jam, there’s nothing I can’t rely on my neighbours for. During the recent frost I went out without a hat, only for a neighbour who met me in the lane to reappear five minutes later with one of their own.

10. You form real connections

When a neighbour has bad news, loses a loved one, or suffers ill health or a life-changing diagnosis, you really do care and will do anything you can to help.

11. You will reverse more than two car lengths

That’s all you need to pass your test (which I finally did in August) but that won’t get you anywhere on these lanes, unless you’ve nerves of steel and no shame in a Mexican standoff.

12. There are classic cars in the woodwork

In general they’re an unshowy bunch, but it turns out they have some lovely cars under their Sunday bonnets. What should have been a village jubilee car show yielded two Daimler Darts, an Aston Martin DB6 and a Jaguar D-type from within a five mile radius.

13. Watching pothole developments are a village past-time

Probably owing to the above, potholes are a hobby akin to bird watching. “Have you seen the big one on the road down to…” being code for: “I’ve fallen in it, twice.”

14. Older people are more fun

My best friend in the village is 73. She’s making my wedding cake next year. The average age in our village choir is about 70 but you’ve never heard so much laughter. Older people know a thing or two about living and laughing in an uncomplicated fashion.

15. No one cares if you’re a DFL

Down From London? We all have to come from somewhere. And it turns out that the vast majority of villagers have swept in on a south easterly wind over the decades.

16. A disproportionate number compared to the national population can turn the heel of a sock

I suspect it comes from starting when they were three years old and never having stopped doing it but the knitting skills contained within the parish would have Tom Daley giving them his gold medal.

17. There is no such thing as a quick walk

A ten minute brisk leg stretch after lunch and back to your desk. No such thing. Just as the search party is about to be sent out, I usually arrive home explaining I only got to the post box before a spaniel and its owner caught me for a stop and chat. Chinwagging is a valid form of village exercise.

18. You can take a dog to church

I actually don’t know if this is strictly true, but so far my mum’s dog has sat through two Harvest Festivals, an Easter service and nine lessons and carols. She has thoroughly enjoyed the lot.

19. It’s a community, not a commune

A gentle reminder from one neighbour who prefers to stay on the periphery of the many social gatherings and events on offer. It wasn’t because I was trying to offer them my homemade dahl. Honest.

20. A different type of fauna invades each year

The first year was slow worms, this year was hornets. Woodlice are perennial. I’m wondering what will be next. Apparently a cow once fell through our roof.

21. Nobody wears Barbours

Apart from me. Perhaps it’s because it’s a very wet valley, but everyone seems to exist in actual waterproof Goretex jackets and trousers, all very black and shiny with fresh rain. Those spaniels would walk themselves but imagine the mayhem.

22. Outsized outsiders may never leave

There are warning signs, but even still a large shipping container did manage to beach itself in the lane for a few days last year. My neighbours’ wonky roof tiles are an artistic ode to the perils of entrapment via Sat Nav.

23. People are kind before they are critical

A national journalist moves in and starts turning every small occurrence into next day’s chip paper, but everyone smiles and shakes their head benevolently.

24. Nobody locks their doors

I’ll be in trouble now.