EWESFLASH: This just in from dyed-in-the-wool townie and TV newsreader NATASHA KAPLINSKY... I've alpaca'd up and moved to the country! Natasha Kaplinsky has left London and moved to a farm in Sussex Moved to countryside with husband Justin and children Arlo and Angelica Says despite being a city girl she wouldn't change her move for anything By Natasha Kaplinsky For The Mail On Sunday As yet again I trudged through a muddy field in the cold, unrelenting drizzle, I will admit I had a moment: "What, exactly, am I doing?" The answer lay in front of me, in the woolly form of six alpacas, all of whom needed feeding - and cleaning out. I'm not precious, but collecting their droppings in a bucket is not my ideal start to the day. Welcome to my new life in the country. A life which has seen me swap my designer heels for wellies, and blow-drys for a waterproof hood. A life in which my alpacas have pedicures more regularly than I do. And in which I have cast aside my house-proud self to embrace mud and an element of chaos. It's certainly a far cry from my time in London, where I was never more than a five-minute walk from a decent cappuccino. Reporter in the field: Natasha Kaplinsky with the sheep and alpacas on her Sussex farm, which she moved to last year Since moving with my husband Justin and children Arlo, six, and Angelica, four, to the Sussex countryside last year, I have happily waved goodbye to the urban luxuries I took for granted. And the thing that has surprised me most is that I wouldn't change it for the world. Nor am I alone: a recent government report revealed that more than 100,000 people moved to rural areas from towns and cities between 2009 and 2011, a figure expected to have doubled in the following two years. Rural residents, the report went on, typically live longer and benefit from a better quality of life. Of course, there was once a time when I would dismiss reports like that. I was, after all, a career girl who had carved out a successful role on TV. I loved the fact that I lived a short cab ride from the studios, not to mention restaurants, bars and the theatre. It never occurred to me I might want to leave. But then, as many parents will testify, the arrival of children often changes one's perspective. And while Angelica seemed entirely at home in a world of babyccinos and endless shops, I couldn't say the same for Arlo. A barrel of endless energy, the city just didn't seem big enough for him. And so, one night, after the children had gone to bed, I found myself tapping "Sussex" into property websites. I recalled my own carefree childhood in the Sussex countryside, building fairy houses in the trees and learning the best recipe to harden conkers. Suddenly, everywhere I turned, I was stumbling across property magazines practically shouting at me to buy an Aga. Career girl: Natasha, who says she was a self confessed career girl reading the ITN news Then I came across our current home. An ancient farmhouse in Sussex, surrounded by fields and a smattering of houses. We booked a viewing, and the moment we walked through its ancient nooks and crannies, the die was cast. Our arrival wasn't entirely auspicious. Following the removal van down winding lanes, we got stuck behind a tractor, the farmer unaware we were turning the corner to a new life. I was seized with panic. Nor was I reassured when we finally arrived. The cosy farmhouse I had interior-designed in my mind was now sad and empty - except, that is, for a million flies, courtesy of the muck spread in the field opposite. The smell was repugnant. As the removal men set off, I couldn't help wondering if I'd imagined the fact they seemed to be sniggering. That first night, the sirens of London were replaced by a silence penetrated only by owls" eerie hoots. I spent a sleepless night, and without a single bar of mobile phone reception. The next morning, the fridge was bare. No more nipping to the corner shop here, though - the nearest store was an "honesty farm shop" seven minutes" drive away. Run by a local farmer, you write down what you've bought and leave the money in a pot between the hours of 9am and 5pm. This, I realised, was going to take a bit of getting used to - a sentiment shared by Angelica. Every day, she would ask if we could go to the park. We had to repeatedly explain that we didn't have to do that as we had a garden now. It has taken a while... Family first: Natasha with her husband Justin Bower after the birth of her daughter Angelica in 2010 It wasn't long before we acquired a menagerie to give Noah a run for his money. The Tibetan terriers, Molly and Benson, had come with us. Then two cats, Mr Mimosa and Miss Tilly, quickly joined by a clutch of chickens. Then quails. And six ducks. "In for a penny, in for a pound," I cheerfully told Justin, as we then took delivery of three bottle-fed sheep, Cookie, Muffin and Isaac (why did we let kids choose names?), and a Shetland Pony called Jasper. The alpacas were also my idea. And one windswept autumn day we took delivery of Lady Lyla, Betsy, Milly and Kyia, four woolly goddesses with doe eyes and terrible manners. Two of them spat - emitting a foul-smelling green spray. It turns out it's something alpacas do when their hormones take hold - and they had good reason. Lady Lyla and Betsy were heavily pregnant and frankly, I wasn't all that well behaved either when I was in the same state. I started to download alpaca birthing plans, something I can safely say would never have been on my radar in Fulham. I even signed up for alpaca birthing workshops - just in case. We were starting to settle into our new life. One night, as Justin and I sat in our garden admiring a sunset that felt like it was cast just for us, two barn owls swooped overhead and landed on the fence, gazing at us serenely in the moonlight. It felt like a beautiful welcome. Summer walks took us over fields, woodlands and hills. The children settled in so well that the plastic toys we had relied on in town lie largely untouched. They prefer to play outside. Yet it was the arrival of our alpaca babies, our two crias, that has made me realise that I am a convert to country life. We were preparing to catch a flight when Lady Lyla went into labour, circling frantically and moaning quietly. My training meant I knew a baby was imminent. Excitedly, the family gathered round. The birth was over in three minutes and suddenly there she was, Sophia The First, limbs like pipe cleaners, lying dazed in front of us. Being there at that magical moment felt like an initiation. Since then we have also welcomed another arrival, the Duke of Sheffield, and courtesy of a visit from a stud called Boozedown Elector, we are due more babies next spring. Our alpaca family is on its way to becoming a herd. We have sent their wool off for processing, and I've ordered some knitting patterns. The very notion would have made me howl with merriment only a year ago. Of course, there are downsides. When I go to London for work, I have to join the ranks of commuters. Where once I could pop home to change, I now carry everything with me. And when winter brings its mud and mess, I fear that will sort me out from the real country folk. Still, I am amazed by how much pleasure all this is giving us - and I have learned a lot. I have learned that it is OK for life to unfold at a slower pace; that something as simple as a sunset can make you happier than you thought possible; and that being houseproud is a waste of energy, because Mother Nature will usually win.