Up the workers
On the afternoon walk, there are shiny conkers on the ground, disinterested sheep in the field and shots being fired across the valley. The dog limbos under the gate to greet three walkers by growling and barking at them. This is unusual, because Bertie is usually quite polite. Then I recognise the rabbit-in-the-headlights look of one of the trio and realise the last time we met he was canvassing for my vote in the General Election. It is Oliver Letwin, closely followed by a tall friend down for the weekend, who is trying desperately to get his phone to work. 'Fat chance, mate,' I say in my head. 'The Enchanted Village is a signal-free zone, as any fule kno.' I then realise the very tall man is no fule, he is Charles Moore, one-time editor of The Sunday Torygraph, The Daily Torygraph and The Spectator. I smile because I am more civil than my dog, which jumps in the stream and then comes out shaking water all over them. Just up the lane, I spy Pelly Sheepwash...