The problem with getting away from it all or fleeing the rat race is you will have to go somewhere that is thirty years behind. Where to go when the world ends? I chose the Village and its rustic charm, and on the whole there is a certain allure to not being part of the daily grind but forgot I would have to suffer the occasional run-in with someone who thinks they have just invented private enterprise. You know, 'rugby shirt wearing capitalist, just discovered Thatcher, seeks similar prepared to work under duress.'