A general peace in Amersham last week suggests that it’s not the numbers of people but the wrong type of people milling about who make it seem overpopulated

”This is the Amersham outsiders envisage when I tell people I live here”

Bank holiday Monday. 2.00pm. Pretty nasty weather. Something’s amiss. We’re walking to Amersham down Sycamore Road and we can hear ourselves talking.

Not only is the speeding traffic missing, Amersham itself is eerily quiet. There are parking spaces on the road and the shops are just busy enough. Staff seemed pleased to see us.

I deduce that people are away in search of sun. I amble into Smiths, Alworths and the bank, and consider the masses that may be either stuck on a motorway or at an airport. Or on a sandy beach in Antigua, I suppose.

This is the Amersham outsiders envisage when I tell people I live here. A quiet, country town. A market town, a sort of time warp where gentlemen raise their hats to ladies. Residents walk everywhere and talk over adjoining hedges. They pop next door for tea and (home-made) scones.

Amersham is in reality populated by people (like me) who’ve moved here from some godforsaken London suburb in search of that illusion.

The illusion can still be conjured though. What was evident over the bank holiday and half term was the lack of roaring 4X4s, noisy parents and wailing children. Have you noticed how noisy some parents are? I have.

Sorry to bring this up but for some the job of parenting seems to be one interminable performance.

From the ones who greet their little ones at the school gates with a high-pitched squeal (‘Tzaahling!’) and open arms to the ones who literally yell as they’re collecting their delightful offspring, ‘NO DARLING, YOU CAN’T HAVE FRANCESCA OVER TOMORROW, WE’RE FLYING TO SOUTH AFRICA” Yeah, I heard you, loud and clear. (Drat, she’ll come back with genuine Nelson Mandela keyring.)

”Back to normal this week. The noisy Mums, the neurotic driving, the comparing notes about holidays”

I say in an even louder voice to my daughter, ‘No sweetheart you can’t have the five Edwards brothers over tomorrow, we’re collecting the restored COAT OF ARMS, and the ROYAL DOULTON PORCELAIN DINNER SERVICE with our HERALDIC FAMILY CREST HAND PAINTED on to it. Then on to Christie's to collect the set of Rembrandts...’

Anyway, it’s possible that just this crowd spent their hard-earned money and left town leaving the rest of us to enjoy Amersham in peace. Or it could be that a lot of people – new louts and quiet ones – went away. Whatever the scenario, Amersham was a delight.

If you were away over the bank holiday (indeed over half term), nothing personal but Amersham was a lovely place without you. (You’ll be easily identifiable because you’ll be tanned.)

Back to normal now. The noisy Mums, the neurotic driving, the comparing notes about holidays.

“Well” I’ll say to anyone who asks “I travelled back in time to 1950. How about you? Oh, going to St. Lucia in August? Good. Then I’ll be able to go back to 1950 again.” A real conversation stopper that one.

But then maybe that's all I want sometimes.