The world from my window

We wait in the car as the rain pours down outside. There's a shelter opposite and a few people in there are enjoying a hot drink. We put the windscreen wipers on and we see steam coming from the cups. We make a dash for it and squeeze into the shed as more people arrive. The hot drink is mulled apple juice and it's very fine indeed. Our names are ticked off by a lady with a clipboard, and then the tractor and covered trailer arrives and we're squashed inside it next to complete strangers and they're all animated in their excitement. River Cottage celebrates its 20th birthday this month. We've seen Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's baby from the very beginning and watched it grow. Mr Grigg is in one of the early episodes of the television series, captaining the peasants' cricket team against the toffs. It's become part of what West Dorset (and East Devon more recently) is known for. Most people here this evening are from away and are staying locall...

Once upon a time, when I was fit, I cycled up to the most wonderful place on earth. It's in West Dorset and, when you get to the top, you feel like you're looking out across Narnia. A patchwork of fields, a huddle of houses here and there, ancient hillforts in the distance and then out to the sea, the coastline curling round towards Devon as if Dorset's saying, 'I'll let you into this view, this photo opportunity, but only if you're on your best behaviour.' The spot in question is Eggardon Hill, a magical, mystical, wonderful place owned, in the main, by the National Trust . Years ago, I watched a storm from here, as it circled and brooded its way over Bridport several miles to the south west. The lightning lit up a dark sky and, up on Eggardon where it was as dry and calm as an empty millpond, it was like being in charge of the weather. Twenty years ago, I rode up the long, steep hill to Eggardon on my touring bike without getting off. I was as ...