I see friends looking shocked when they arrive here at the farm from London for the day or the weekend and it's raining a bit. Their shiny trainers are ruined by the time they've walked up the garden path to the front door and they stand there shivering, horrified at the thought of hours and hours of nothing to do and bad weather.
There is nothing to do in the country. Nothing is likely to happen unless you cause it to. Cities are such buoyant, provocative places, always trying to distract you and make you spend your time on this or think about that but in the countryside you have to make all your own waves.
So they come in out of the cold and it's quiet and I let them enjoy the silence, taste the stillness, while I stoke up a fire and make a pot of tea. Pretty soon we're cosy, looking at the rain through the window, warming our toes with tea and buttery toast. The sun comes out and dazzles immaculate silver through a low window.