I HAVE lived all my life in Dorset.

Well, I used to be able to claim this, until a few months ago when we moved from Bournemouth to Ringwood.

It's only a toenail across the county line into Hampshire, but for me it's almost akin to emigrating over the Mexican border into Tijuana.

Now before I get letters from "disgruntled of Avon", please don't get me wrong. I love the area, and being so close to the New Forest is an absolute joy.

But there are a few things which seem so alien.

Laugh at me if you will, but for starters let's talk rubbish.

Where are the dustbins? There are none in Ringwood. Instead we have to leave different coloured bags by the roadside. The frantic rumble of bins on dustbin day, chauffeured by people in their dressing gowns is now a long distant memory.

And then there are the dialling codes. Many's the time I have dialled a Bourne-mouth number from Ringwood, to hear a whining tone, making me painfully aware I have omitted the 01202.

Having Dorchester as a county town all my life was as comfortable as a pair of well-worn slippers. Now we have Winchester as a hub, and share a bed with the likes of Basingstoke, Portsmouth and Eastleigh which I know so little about.

I'm sure I will one day be as proud of Hampshire as I have been of Dorset, but give me a little more time in my new mantle as a Hampshire Hog.

Handing over the old one - with Dorset Dumpling written on the back - was something of a poignant occasion.

And it has left a bit of a gap in my cupboard.