You can take a girl out of Berkshire.....

You know, here's the really strange thing; I was born in Lincoln, I have family here, I have visited the place many, many times over the years. Lincoln, to me, is akin to a comfort blanket; always there, familiar in a safe kind of way.

So you would think that when we moved back here a few months ago I would take to the place as you would if you had a catch-up drink with your first love. I was expecting warm, safe and inviting; after all, it's my home town....

What I find in fact, is that the city (yes, city....not many people know that, apart from those who live here) has changed almost beyond recognition. Gone is the slightly tired looking city centre, replaced by quaint eatery, coffee-bar and nail bar laden boulevards and walkways. This is Lincoln 2008; no more a depressed Northern backwater; it easily struts it's way into any self-respecting tourist brochure.

And that's the thing; I feel the brochure doesn't quite match expectation. You know how people say that no matter how much you love a holiday destination, living there 24/7 is a different kettle of fish? Actually, I feel I should point out at this juncture that I'm not aligning Lincoln with Bermuda; there are some things even the most skilled town planners cannot achieve.

I guess the real crux of the matter is that the people have not welcomed me open arms (which I suppose is not the fault of the smart boulevards and walkways). Most are friendly enough on the face of it, but don't expect being invited into the inner sanctum of their social lives within 5 years of meeting them. Perhaps I have relocated from a highly social part of the country, where networking both on a social and business level, was done automatically, and that has not made it's way this far north yet...

Let me quote an example (a fairly extreme one, granted): a couple of weeks ago I had a very painful upper back so set about scouring yell.com for a local beauty salon that could administer a much needed back massage. I found one only a couple of miles away, located at what seemed to be a residential address.

I make the call, a fairly brusque man answers with "Geoff Burnett", I stutter "oh, sorry, I thought I was calling Xanadu..."

"She's here, hang on".......phone clunks onto the table, muttered voices in background.

Then said "she" comes onto the line "hello?"

I, as my polite self, explain that I am looking for a local salon where I can get a massage; is this something that is offered at Xanadu?

"No"

"Oh.......I see........well......thanks for your help......"

Click.

I am left, phone in hand, ever-so-slightly bemused.

Now....forgive me. I don't think, although I will happily be corrected, that a make-shift salon in someones dining room in a village north of Lincoln is so overrun with appointments from A, B and C list celebs that it can afford to alienate a potential customer with a real skill for knotting her back and shoulders up like me?? Or perhaps she thought I was an undercover reporter, or perhaps someone from environmental health?

Part of me wants to call back and ask precisely what it is that Xanadu offers, as it clearly must be extraordinarily good to override an attitude akin to one of Hitler's generals.

The other part of me will just limp on, sore shoulders and all as I swallow another ibuprofen, lamenting the days when I could make a call and be on the therapists' couch within an hour...