Every time I go back to London (in fact, twice last weekend) someone asks me whether I am missing London and whether I am glad to live in the countryside.
This afternoon I left work on time for once. Drove almost all the way home but stopped near the beach. Parked in a National Trust carpark and walked through woodland filled with birdsong and scented with wild garlic until I came out on the coast path, where the moor meets the sea. I climbed half way up the headland and sat on my favourite bench, looking out to sea, listening to the waves bash against the shore, the air amber in the evening sun. I was in shirt sleeves (and a suit skirt. and my Timberland boots. Sartorially speaking, it was a good job I was on my own)
I then drove home and cooked my supper by an open window, the air ruffled by the sound of bell ringing.
On evenings like this, it is safe to say I do not miss London one iota. [except living with my husband - that I miss - but that's another answer to a question no-one likes to ask]